


Why I Stopped Looking at the Stars

by nekostyx



Series: Finding the Stars [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged up characters, Angst, Bokuatsu, Canon Compliant, Did I mention angst, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, Hints of Kuroken, Insecurity, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Unrequited Love, akaashi pining, bokuaka family, bokuto pining, lots of fluff, pretty setters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekostyx/pseuds/nekostyx
Summary: If he were more like Miya, would Bokuto see the star in him too?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu, Bokuto Koutarou & Miya Atsumu, Bokuto Koutarou/Miya Atsumu, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: Finding the Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858876
Comments: 167
Kudos: 529





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I’ve been writing this for a while for a while now, so I hope you like it!! It’s a two part series (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* , so thank you for giving this a chance :)

_**LINK FOR SONGS :[Why I Stopped Looking at the Stars Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63bez5NpvEZdNMYCROMG4P?si=I3ZUTthYQtSV_WIR5XJung)** _

Song 1: The Buzz

_**It's**_ Bokuto who starts their story, hesitantly shuffling towards Akaashi at the end of try-outs, his golden eyes peering curiously at the first-year.

"Hey Akaashi! Do you want to toss to me for a bit?" the older boy asks, butchering the first-year's name as he gestures to the volleyball in his hands.

Akaashi glances up, unsure if he heard right. The several inch difference between them makes it difficult to truly discern as he studies the other man, though he is easy on the eyes with his startling sun rise eyes and sharp, handsome features Akaashi notes. Behind Bokuto, the blonde second-year furiously shakes his head, warning the younger boy to save himself and decline the man's offer.

_Ah._

His hands unconsciously begin to twist together. It's well past sunset by now, tryouts running longer than usual, but Akaashi isn't surprised. The sheer number of boys that crowded the gym earlier this evening indicated he wouldn't be returning home for a while, but now with legs screaming with exhaustion and soreness plaguing his body, he imagines how nice a warm meal and some sleep would feel. _Like heaven._

However, there is a giant obstacle to this, standing in front of him in all his glory- hopeful eyes, silver hair damp with sweat, and giant smile breaking his face: Bokuto Koutaro, the reason he came to Fukurodani.

To be honest, he's a bit wary why Bokuto Koutaro, second-year vice captain, ace of a powerhouse school, would want _Akaashi_ to set for him, especially when the starting third-year setter is talented beyond belief; yet, the words tumble out of his mouth as if strung by an unknown force. "I do." 

Two words that veer him to a new path.

Bokuto turns away, murmuring sadly, " Oh, I see. That's okay, I mean! I get your busy, and you must be tired from practice. See you t-"

He pauses, before whipping his head back. Bokuto shoots him a quizzical, almost comical, look. "Wait a min-did you just say I do?"

The younger boy nods solemnly, wondering why he asked if expected a no, and Bokuto immediately lights up, even ignoring the groan the blonde player in the back releases.

"Alright, Akaashi! Let me go get the balls. Stay here, don't leave- unless you want to." Bokuto scrambles to collect the scattered volleyballs, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement, before dumping the handful into a cart.

By the time Bokuto wheels in the cart, now toppling with the familiar red, green, and white hues of Molten volleyballs, the rest of the players have trickled out of the gym, leaving it uncharacteristically empty, but not silent as the older boy hollers at Akaashi to get ready for his "perfect receive", which it is. He's not surprised. The ball lands squarely into Akaashi's outstretched fingers, vibrating with energy in anticipation of the impact. When the familiar smooth leather grazes his tips, Akaashi forces himself to wait just a fraction of a second before propelling the ball into the air. As soon as it leaves his hands, job completed, Akaashi whips around eagerly to stare at the older boy.

He's not disappointed.

Bokuto springs into the air, leg muscles shaking from the immense power accumulating in them. The view in front of him leaves Akaashi gaping, utterly star-struck and frozen. Bokuto soars, a forceful swing of unseeable wings that pushes Akaashi back, with strong arms stretching towards the sky. _Can humans fly?_ Green, flashing dots spot Akaashi's vision, as if kissing the star.

_Whoosh._

Skin meets leather, and the force of the impact sends a gust of air against Akaashi's face. The ball slams into the tiniest space at the corner on the opposite side of the court. A flawless cross-shot. Bokuto floats back down, as if even the sky is reluctant to surrender its brightest star, and rubs his burnings hands in satisfaction. Akaashi frowns, thinking his toss was alright, sure, but if he could just set it a little higher, maybe a bit more to the left with -

"Woah! Akaashi, your tosses are the best!" the second year marvels.

_What?_

Akaashi stills, searching Bokuto's face for the smallest hint of jest or malice, but meeting only bright eyes and a genuine smile.

So-he tries to wrap his mind around the anomaly- Bokuto is actually being serious. He's not sure what stuns him more: Bokuto's sincerity or his compliment, but either way there's a warm feeling blossoming in his chest that he doesn't completely hate. 

Bokuto declares, his loud voice once again interrupting Akaashi's train of thoughts. "I'm going to hit all your tosses! Hey, hey, what'd you think of my cross-shot Akaashi?"

The dark haired boy shrugs, the casual gesture a stark contrast from the adrenaline coursing through his body, in a refusal to reveal his true emotions to Bokuto. What would he say? _Hey, so that spike practically knocked my lungs out. Really, just a phenomenal shot. I see it every time I close my eyes. Oh by the way, I just happened to see you hit an incredible spike in one game last year and decided to follow you?_ Yeah, not a chance. Instead, he mumbles, "Let's focus on your straights, Bokuto-san. If I recall, they seem to be your weak points."

Then, Akaashi ducks beneath he net, hiding behind the pretense of grabbing the spiked ball. He's thankful for the brief moment of privacy as he attempts to regain control of his hammering heart. It's an unfamiliar feeling, one that bubbles deep within his chest. When he returns, Bokuto stares at him with a strange look in his eyes, more careful and questioning than before.

"What's wrong, Bokuto-san?" Akaashi asks, head cocked to the side as he studies the older boy.

"Did you not think my cross-shot was good?" Bokuto's voice is inquisitive, and though the older boy tries to conceal it, also a bit insecure.

Akaashi stills for a moment, uncertain if his ears heard correct. How could Bokuto even think his cross-shot was anything less than immaculate? The form, the power, the precision- it was inhumane.

_Weakness #2: Bokuto can't comprehend the extent of his abilities._

"Bokuto-san," he admits, too startled to even feel embarrassed about his next sentence. ''Your cross-shots are amazing."

Slowly, as Akaashi's words reach Bokuto, the second-year begins to light up, shoulders opening and eyes shining, as the praise cements itself into Bokuto's memories. "Really?" Bokuto beamed, "You think? Does this mean you think I can become the best ace?"

The first year ponders the question for a second as he replays the few times he's watched Bokuto play. "Yes," he concedes, causing Bokuto to perk up even more and open his mouth, and some deep rooted intuition tells him that the compliment inflated his head. Akaashi rushes out, "But right now, you're far from it. For one, your straights are subpar at best."

Akaashi's words don't appear to deter Bokuto. Instead, he grins wildly at Akaashi, as if he enjoyed the fact that he had lots of work to do before he could claim the title for himself. Still, it was a dream, and then, suddenly, it was a start. "Aha! But my cross-shots are awesome. Bet I looked super cool too hitting that toss too, huh Akaashi?"

Bokuto doesn't offer Akaashi the chance to respond as he raves on about how amazing that spike was, and Akaashi squints at the boy, wondering if Bokuto even heard the latter part Akaashi's response. A few minutes tick by, and the answer is clear to the blue-eyed boy, but nonetheless he patiently listens to Bokuto's self-indulgent speech because Bokuto is his senpai, both in age and in the game, and that's what a good kohai would do.

"Akaashi, how about one more toss?" Bokuto insists, closing his monologue with the request.

Akaashi glances outside, internally groaning when his eyes meet with utter darkness and a glowing crescent moon. It's later than he thought.

He shoots Bokuto an uncertain look, unsure when "a little bit" became two hours. "Bokuto-san, it's 9 pm." He informs hesitantly, hoping the older boy won't take offense at his suggestion. "Shouldn't we go home and at least start homework?"

"Ah, right Akaashi," the older boy chuckles nervously, completely unoffended and rather embarrassed. Once again, Bokuto confuses him. So, he's not angry at Akaashi? "Homework. Yup. Good 'ol calculus homework... and literature... and chemistry lab... and history."

Nodding in agreement, Akaashi cleans the gym by sweeping the floors, and Bokuto shoves the volleyballs back into the closet, distinctly ignoring the multiple crashing sounds that echo from the room a few seconds later. It goes quicker than Akaashi expects, and soon, he finds himself behind Bokuto, staring at the older boy's white Fukurodani jacket as Bokuto locks the gym doors. Outside, the air is typical of a Tokyo spring, hot and muggy, sticking to Akaashi's skin like a second layer of sweat. Bokuto insists they walk home together, despite the fact Akaashi lives no where even remotely close to the older-boy, but he's too polite to decline. Instead, he spends the next hour or so listening to his companion chatter about anything and everything (though he often almost returned back to volleyball) and trailing Bokuto as he pulls them into various stores along the way.

"See you soon, Akaashi!" Bokuto waves animatedly at him, a grin breaking his face when they finally reach their separate destinations.

Akaashi nods politely in return and walks down the path to his house, occasionally glancing up to admire the view. In the night sky above them, a few stars twinkle, some more than others, but none bright enough to catch his attention.

*****

_Song 2: Counting Stars_

_**Try-out** _results come out the next day, posted on the bulletin board in front of the gym Akaashi spent hours in last night. He arrives early to school, like always, but this time there's a nervous flutter in his stomach that's all too unfamiliar. Somehow, he finds himself hoping to call Fukurodani his team instead of just his school.

"Maybe next year."

"Damn, I didn't make it again."

"What the hell? They only accepted one person."

The crowd of boys from yesterday swarm the small sheet of paper before quietly sulking away with dejected expressions and soft grumbles. Akaashi waits patiently in the corner, wringing his slender fingers together in a nervous tick, as he waits for the crowd to thin. When it finally does, after what somehow feels like both years and seconds later, Akaashi meanders through the last few lingering bystanders. Squeezing his eyes shut, he ignores the tiny thought that if he didn't make the team, then his decision to come here was in vain. Akaashi's almost convinced himself that the tipping point in choosing Fukurodani over several other prestigious schools was because of its outstanding academics and distance from home, certainly not because of a random glimpse of a certain silver-haired boy, loud and careless. No, definitely not because of Bokuto Koutaro, though the rabid butterflies in his stomach suggest otherwise. Akaashi mentally counts to three before opening his eyes.

There, only a few inches away from wide blue-green eyes, is a sheet of loose paper, completely blank save for a single name.

The air rushes out of his lungs.

_Akaashi Keiji_

"Akaashi Keiji? Does anyone know him?" Questioning whispers and murmurs buzz around him.

Who is he?

Who is he?

Who is he?

He slinks away, sharp features set in their usual impasse as if he wasn't a boy who happened to stumble upon something beautifully great. Akaashi treads over to his first period, silently sitting down as he mulled over his new reality- he was officially a part of the Fukurodani Volleyball team, a team that went to nationals last year, a team that held the fleeting star known as Bokuto Koutaro. He spends all of class distracted by the news, and by the time the bell rings, Akaashi is almost finish with his homework for the next day until quiet gasps of awe and surprise break his concentration.

"Are those second-years? Wow! They're so big."

Peering to the doorway to see what the commotion is about, Akaashi's greeted with an unexpected sight: two older boys, one tall with tousled hair and an upturned smile, and the other the thin blonde from yesterday. Their eyes, almost the same shade of brown, lock on shocked sea-green ones before the duo strides over to Akaashi.

"So," the blonde one smirks, leaning down on Akaashi's desk, "You're Akaashi-kun."

It's more of a statement than a question really. He knows the older boy must recognize him the same way Akaashi remembers the blonde, but nonetheless, he's a bit surprised by the sudden attention and interaction.

"Well, welcome to the team kid. I'm Konoha Akinori, and this fucker-" he jerks a thumb to his companion "- is Sarukui Yamamoto."

The brunette- Sarukui, Akaashi corrects-grins lazily at him with a half-shrugged wave, and Akaashi nods politely at his two senpais.

"Nice to meet you. I look forward to playing with you."

Konoha pats his shoulder. "Same kid. So, anyways what position do you play?"

"Setter."

"Oh?" How long have you played for? Who do think will win the All Japan Volleyball Championship? What junior high did you go to?" Sarukui interrogates, firing one question after the other.

Akaashi strikes back without missing a beat," Three years, the Black Jackals-"

He pauses, allowing Konoha, a die-hard Toray Arrows fan, to release a wailing screech. 

"-and Mori Junior High." He finishes. 

At the mention of his former school, a look of surprise flits through Konoha's and Sarukui's faces before it vanishes just as quickly as it appeared.

Akaashi tilts his head, curious. "Is there something I should know?"

"Nah," Konoha waves it off with a casual flick of his hand. "Just surprised that's all. Usually all our players come from powerhouse schools. The fact that you were the only guy to make it-" he narrows his eyes gleefully at the younger boy "-must mean you're really good, right?"

Akaashi shrugs, unsure of the correct answer to that question. He's not hopeless, sure, but he's also not gifted like a few others, and a certain silver haired boy pops into his mind.

"I don't think I'm exceptionally talented like Bokuto-san, but my skills are adequate enough." He finally professes.

"Fair enough." The taller of the two taps his finger against his chin, almost thoughtfully. "Bokuto almost ranks at the national level though, so don't be too hard on yourself."

"Yes," Akaashi agrees wholeheartedly "Bokuto-san is a star."

The seconds after tick by in silence, and Akaashi briefly wonders if he's said something offensive, especially with the gaping mouths Konoha and Sarukui to stare at him with.

“...What did he say?”

”Did he just call-“

Then, Sarukui groans so dramatically, Akaashi feels a ghost of a smile sneak its way onto his face. "Ugh, don't tell me we got another weird one!"

"Another Bokuto fan. Damn it, life really is cruel." Konoha cries, clutching his chest. "Sarukui, what do you think we did to deserve this?"

"Maybe I was a low-life criminal," Sarukui muses.

"You took the words right of my mouth-"

"And you were a rat that got run over by a bus."

"I completely agree- Hey!"

The two continue their banter before decidedly shifting their focus to the ace- his emo modes, his loud voice at six in the morning, the extra practice after normal practice when he wants more tosses. Yet, despite all their grumblings, it's clear as broad daylight the older boys love Bokuto. Akaashi sees it in the way Konoha's mischievous eyes soften the slightest bit or the way Sarukui's voice surges with protectiveness. It's the type of love, rare and worthy, that can only be built through years of memories and time, and somehow, Akaashi has managed to catch a fleeting chance to be a part of it. He finds himself holding back a grin, thinking maybe there are other snippets of beauty, smaller, but just as comforting, other than a star.

****

_Song 3: I'd Love to Change the World_

_**Akaashi**_ first witnesses Bokuto's infamous emo moods at one of their increasingly frequent nightly practices. It's just the two of them in the stillness of the night, and Akaashi's arm aches with an unfortunate familiarity. Bokuto's energy is boundless, the younger boy muses, as he watches Bokuto send a receive to him. Chasing after the ball, he suddenly feels a burn to make this toss perfect. Even Akaashi can't fathom the limit of the ace's potential. He believes almost as blindly if it were a fact. Bokuto can hit cross-shots, receive, set, and toss. He can most certainly hit straights, and Akaashi has never felt more determined to pull something into existence. Slender fingers kiss the leather of ball, like two old friends reuniting.

_Think. How can he give Bokuto the best chance?_

He pauses for a fraction of a second before pushing the ball with a steady thread of power and precision, and then he's spinning around, anticipating if his work is enough for a star. Bokuto is celestially beautiful as always, a peek of paradise, soaring and shining, that Akaashi manages to steal a glimpse of. Bokuto reaches for the ball, broad shoulders squared back for a straight. 

_Maybe._

He breathes in. 

_This time, could it-?_

Bokuto misses.

The air rushes out of his lungs, as if he was just sucker-punched. When the ace crashes back down on the ground, he's unusually silent, unable to meet Akaashi's gaze, and this is what snuffs out the flicker of hope in the setter's chest. 

The quiet makes Akaashi squirm uncomfortably. He decides he hates it.

"Bokuto-san," he calls out gently. "Are you okay?'

He can understand the ace's frustration, even feels it too like a heavy burn in chest that tints his vision red. They had been practicing straights for weeks now, hours upon hours, until one of their mom's called (usually Akaashi's as he supposes Bokuto's family must be well accustomed to the silver haired's late hours) or the janitor yelled at them to leave. Somehow, though, they kept failing, the star and him. 

"Akaashi," the captain stares at the floor, developing a sudden interest in the chipped wood as he digs the tip of his shoe in. "I don't deserve your tosses. Don't set to me anymore."

Dramatically, he shoves a hand in front of Akaashi's face before limping towards the corner, hair drooping and shoulder hunched.

 _Weakness #3: Bokuto falls into dejected modes_.

Akaashi pauses, a bit taken back by the situation, and trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest that leaves him hollow.

 _Methodical. Be methodical._ He gulps. 

What makes Bokuto tick?

_The deafening roar of a crowd, eyes glued to the ace as they cheer his name._

_The familiar weight of his team's reliance on him._

Why does he love volleyball?

_The glint in golden eyes after a particular forceful spike, watching the satisfying way the ball breaks past unprepared defenders. Whispers that he's the best, victory's champion with golden eyes._

_That's right_ , Akaashi realizes. Steeling his nerves, he strides towards Bokuto, "Okay Bokuto-san. I won't toss to you, but I will give you ten minutes. Please use that time to reflect."

"Huh?"

The setter debates, bouncing on the balls of his heels as nerves wrack his body. _Fuck it_ , he thinks. " Also," - a heavy swallow - "I am counting on you."

Akaashi's face burns as he spins around and jogs back to the net, too terrified to see Bokuto's reaction. Instead, he concentrates on his sets. Toss after toss flies into the air, but none the exact way he envisioned. He needs them to lure out Bokuto's potential, needs high, fast tosses far from the net. By the time his arms sag, as if heavy with lead, callouses have formed on his fingertips, and Bokuto peaks out from his corner, entranced by the temptation of a deadly toss. 

Akaashi smirks.

 _Just a little more_.

_One more toss..._

_but make it perfect_.

A deep inhale, settling his nerves and soothing aching muscles, and Akaashi throws the ball up, the gesture ingrained in memory now, before the volleyball spirals back down to Akaashi, a perfect trajectory shooting straight into the boy's slender fingers. He meticulously weaves in the concise amount of raw power and flawless precision. It's path arcs stunningly to Bokuto's favorite spot- high, far from the net, and fast, but the only thing missing now is the spiker himself, and the two boys watch as the perfect set crashes down into the gym floors with a reverberating bang.

"Akaashi-" Bokuto gasps out, his frustration completely forgotten as he stares at Akaashi with a newfound wonder. Golden eyes, brimming with pride and excitement, strike against shocked blue ones- the beginning of something worthwhile. He gapes at Akaashi's hands with an emotion so akin to reverence, the blue-eyed boy fights the urge to hide his hands behind his back. 

"That was fucking awesome! Your tosses really are the best!"

Akaashi stills, shocked at Bokuto's raw praise as his heart thunders in his chest, partly from exhaustion, partly from something else Akaashi can't yet name. He thinks he finally found the answer to his lingering question in the sincerity of the older boy's words. Bokuto is realness. Everything about him is truthful, genuine, and kind, and the hopeful idea that Bokuto is not just a fleeting star, but rather, maybe, something more permanent for Akaashi blooms in his mind.

******

_Song 4: On Top of the World_

_**Akaas** **hi** _falls into a comfortable rhythm, marveling at how perfectly playing volleyball at Fukurodani weaves everything together. His days begin with long morning practices, nearly everyone bleary-eyed and crumpling under the obvious exhaustion that comes with waking up at 6 am. Well... everyone except for a certain bright eyed ace. Bokuto's boisterous cheers energize Akaashi better than his morning coffee, though for Konoha, the story is different, and Akaashi, unfortunately, has grown accustomed to the terrorized screams of the giant, muscled ace as Konoha chases Bokuto across the field with his sneaker. 

Then, around a month after they first met, Bokuto springs the suggestion onto Akaashi, "Hey, let's walk to school together!"

Logically, it makes perfect sense. Bokuto and him are always the first ones to arrive for morning practices, and Akaashi sometimes catches himself staring at the older boy's bedhead, silver strands mused wildly, wondering what Bokuto looks like first thing in the morning. Still, coherent reasoning doesn't stop the pretty setter from nearly fumbling the ball he's just tossed as he chokes out an incomprehensible strangled noise that sounds something like a fish dying. 

"What?"

He recovers quickly, manages to pull his face into its usual mask. "Sure," he turns to face Bokuto, whose peering intensely at the younger boy, "As long as you're not late.''

The ace pouts, "Akaashi, you're supposed to make me look cool!"

"Suave even." Sarukui chirps from the background, shooting a finger gun at Akaashi.

"Sexy." This time it's Konoha, who thrusts his hip in a wildly inappropriate manner that perhaps, once, would have caused Akaashi's cheeks to burn, but now only receives a raised eyebrow in response.

"Hey Konoha!" The ace hollers. " Guess what! Guess whose Akaashi's favorite senpai. Not you, you ugly bastard. "

Favorite senpai? Akaashi shoots Bokuto's a quizzical glance, but the latter is already gone, chasing after a tossed volleyball Konoha is preparing to serve. He watches Bokuto dart across the floor before jumping and smacking the other boy's serve with a strong hand. The volleyball flies to the other side of the court in a perfect cross-shot, and the two older boys come crashing down on the floor, a messy tangle of limbs, especially when Konoha begins strangling the silver-haired.

Outside of practice, school passes by nearly the same, though - thankfully- a little bit more peaceful... until a certain silver-haired boy curiously peeks his head into Akaashi's homeroom during break, causing a flurry of nervous giggles and awed whispers of "That's Bokuto Koutaro." It's mid April, the cherry blossom trees still blooming, though certainly not as fast as before. Mid-April also signals the looming arrival of Keiji's first high school game. The qualifiers for the Kantou tournament approach rapidly, and to say he was nervous would be an understatement, yet Akaashi found the piles of assignments and back-to-back tests shoved his worries aside with new ones, which is exactly why he pretty setter is currently hunched over his desk, intently studying his calculus textbook in preparation for his upcoming test in a week, during their lunch break.

"Hey, hey, hey Akaashi!"

Sea-colored eyes rise up in shock, flitting around the room in search of their owner. "Bokuto-san?"

Bokuto gives his answer by sliding into the seat next to Akaashi and peering at his textbook. Akaashi holds his breath. Bokuto's hair brushes against his chin, and his heart begins its familiar gallop. Despite the hair gel, it's much softer than he thought, and Bokuto's warm spice and sandlewood scent envelopes the younger boy.

"Yuck," Bokuto blenches, scanning the dizzying array of numbers, letters, and lines. "You're studying math? Voluntarily? Out of your free will?"

He seems shocked. Akaashi nods slowly. "Yes, Bokuto-san. That's sort of what students are expected to do."

"Do you like it?"

"It's bearable enough." Akaashi answers before inquiring, "Bokuto-san, why are you here?"

He turns and looks at the older boy, who's still enraptured by the textbook. Akaashi wonders how someone can live every moment of life so intensely, and, maybe just for a transient moment, wishes he could live like that.

Golden eyes, bright and warm like stars, suddenly greet him, "Wanna eat lunch with us? Like you know, the second years, some of the third years."

The blue-eyed boy freezes, Bokuto's words ringing in his head as he tries to comprehend them. After a few seconds, he carefully replies. "Thank you Bokuto-san. I think I would enjoy that."

So, somehow Bokuto managed to wriggle himself into every aspect of Akaashi's life: early morning jogs, snack runs during their breaks, late night practices, and lunch outside. Like right now, Akaashi twists the ratty knob of the door to the rooftop only to be met by the sight of several gangly teenagers huddled in a small circle, their backs against the railings of the roof. He can't help the warning that escapes his mouth, "Be careful, Bokuto-san."

The older boy simply grins slyly at him before stealing a onigiri from Akaashi's bento box.

"Come here, Akaashi." Bokuto beckons to the empty spot next to him, and Akaashi hesitantly shuffles to the spiker before folding his legs underneath.

Bokuto leans in, eyes intense, "Look." he commands as he draws sun eyes away from the younger boy and past the railings of the roof. Akaashi follows his gaze, and he can't stop the soft gasp that escapes him.

The view was stunning, a snippet of undiscovered beauty consisting of fluttering sakura petals and cerulean skies. He breathes in, spinning to convey his awe at the scene, but the words don't come. Sea green eyes, that rival the color of the sky beneath them, shine so wonderfully radiant, and Akaashi is too busy living in the moment to store the sight for later.

*****

_Song 5: Centuries_

_**Akaashi's**_ not surprised when Bokuto once again comes up to him at the end of practice and asks if he'd like to toss to Bokuto. It's become almost expected at this point, and they've settled into a comfortable routine over the last few weeks.

This time, though, the younger boy hesitates, remembering the obscene amount of homework his teachers had already assigned, but somehow he finds himself caving in as he says, "Yes, Bokuto-san. I can toss for you."

And the shining in sunrise eyes somehow makes up for it.

They practice, and practice, and practice, and not a minute goes by in which the gym is not echoing with the reverberations of impact- leather against skin, leather against tile. Akaashi tosses each time Bokuto requests, and, honestly, some deviate far from perfect: ones too high, too weak, too far, but, Akaashi notes, it's a stark improvement from yesterday. He's beginning to understand what exactly being a setter entails: to know the in-and-outs of every member on the court, to maximize their potential and synchronize it into their best version. He's beginning to learn that each player is unique, needs specifications specifically tailored to them. For example, Bokuto likes powerful tosses, quite fitting Akaashi thinks, that are far and high from the net. They've been practicing for hours, Akaashi's arms begging for a reprieve, when Akaashi challenges himself.

 _One more_ , he pushes, _just one more toss_.

It's like time hears his pleas as it slows down, the air Akaashi never knew he needed suddenly rushing into his lungs as his fingers propel the ball to Bokuto. And _fuck_ if it isn't a striking toss, perfectly spun and powered with a delicate precision gifted to the only rarest of setters. Bokuto flies, forcing an awed gasp to tumble from the setter's lips, and strong hands, throbbing red and bruised with callouses, meet the ball with such intense ferocity, it goes ricocheting straight off the the sideline of the court. The sound is electrifying. Even the crickets stop chirping, as if they could even sense the greatness that was currently being created in the old high school gym with creaking floorboards and scents of sweaty socks. Golden clashes with blue, the sun shines upon the sea, two beings as old as time finally reunite.

"Akaashi-"

"Bokuto-san, your straight-"

Two voices overlap, both in awe of the other, before they're cheering crazily in the empty gym. The setter's heart pounds, no longer in nervousness, but rather in excitement, and he feels unstoppable when he stares into the raw, unfiltered happiness on Bokuto's face. Akaashi feels really, really good, is aware of every small detail around him from the frayed ends of the net to the way Bokuto's eyes crinkle when he smiles. Really, _really_ , good.

"Akaashi," Bokuto whoops excitedly, face close enough for Akaashi to count individual lashes, "That was an amazing toss! You're awesome!"

Akaashi's cheeks heat up, and as much as he would like to attribute it to his exhaustion, he knows there's nothing as wonderful like being so directly praised by someone as talented as Bokuto. "Thank you, Bokuto-san, but you did all the work. You finally got your straight."

"Hell yeah I did!" Bokuto cheers, pumping a fist into the air, " Woah, with your crazy tosses and my straights, we're going to win the fall Interhigh!"

Akaashi grins at his spiker, wild and unrestrained as he soaks in the warmth in his chest that bloomed every time he saw Bokuto in his best form. Well, that is until Bokuto just insists they practice even more tosses until he "becomes the best" at them, and Akaashi's reasoning pleas of "Please Bokuto-san, you can't master a skill in one night. It's been five hours." falls on deaf ears.

Finally, Akaashi puts his foot down, resting on hand on his hip, lips set in determination. "Bokuto-san, it's 11 at night. We need to go home."

"Akaashi," The second-year snorts, chuckling to himself. "What are we, old men? Who goes home at 11 pm?"

Akaashi deadpans, " We have practice at 5 am tomorrow."

The older boy visibly pales. "F-funny Akaashi," He laughs nervously, " For a moment there, I thought you said 5 am. "

"I did."

"... As in, 5 in the morning? As in, like, before dawn?"

Akaashi nods. 

The next few seconds tick by in an unusual silence. Bokuto's frozen as he attempts to comprehend the information.

Then, suddenly- "Are you crazy, Akaashi? Five am? What are we doing here?" He pushes Akaashi to the exit. "As your senpai, I command you to go home. The early bug eats the worm."

"Bokuto-san, I don't think that's how it go-"

The older boy simply shushes him as he drags them out of the gym, nearly forgetting to switch off the lights in his haste, and into the cover of the starry night. The stars glimmer more than usual today, as if smiling down upon one of their own. Underneath them, two boys, one vibrant and shining, the other gentle and thoughtful, though both are great alone, but magnificent together, horse around the empty concrete streets of Tokyo. Bokuto pulls the younger boy into a familiar convenience store that closes at midnight, and Akaashi finds himself caving in to the ace's pleas for a late night dinner that consists of pre-packaged ramen and soda. By the time they finally arrive home, Bokuto's waved him off with his customary, "See you later!". It's well past midnight when the two stumble into bed, but neither one can muster the will to care, and they fall asleep, dreaming of great things with soft smiles on their faces.

*****

_Song 6: High Hopes_

_**The**_ feelings explode inside him, brilliant fireworks of unbeatable highs and burning exuberance. Time freezes, but somehow, everything seems clearer than before- Konoha's arms around him, Bokuto's shouts from left court, the excited roars from the crowd. Past Konoha's blonde strands, the score 25-20 glimmers brightly in yellow lights on the scoreboard. Akaashi blinks, and it's still there, right in front of him. He inhales deeply.

_They won?_

He meets Bokuto's eyes across the court, shining golden orbs that always seem to trap ocean colored ones. 

_They won!_

Akaashi shouts, as loud as he possibly can, from the bottom of his lungs, his usual impassive mask giving way to wide eyes and an open mouth screaming in excitement. Unconsciously, he barrels towards Bokuto, not exactly sure of his intent, but, in that single moment, it feels right. Strong arms wrap around his back, warm and steady that cause Akaashi to subconsciously lean in, the familiar scent of cedar and spice enveloping Akaashi. He's not sure when Bokuto's cologne became familiar to the point of comfort, but right now Akaashi's content just celebrating their victory with their ace.

"Akaashi," Bokuto smiles brilliantly at him. "We won!" 

"Bokuto, that straight-"

"Akaashi, your toss-" 

Their words crash into each other, but their meaning is clear from Bokuto's proud eyes to Akaashi's wild grin, and Akaashi wonders if the ace can truly comprehend how proud Akaashi is to call Bokuto his team mate, not despite his dejected moods and all, but with them. He wouldn’t change a single thing about their ace. 

Suddenly, Komi collides into Bokuto from behind, jumping on the vice captain’s back with such ferocity, Bokuto nearly toppled over if Akaashi’s arms hadn’t reached out to steady him. Akaashi and Bokuto pull away, only to be tackled again, this time by the entire team: Konoha, Komi, Bokuto, Sarukai. 

The word rushes through Akaashi’s mind before he can even stop it. 

_Family._

Coach, whose unsuccessfully trying to hide his sniveling and tears, hollers at them to "get their asses off the court", and sure enough, the teams for the next game stand there, their eyes glued in awe at Bokuto. They must have caught the last few moments of their game, gaping at the silver-head ace blow a terrifying straight past a wall of blockers in the winning shot. 

_Guess we're all on the same boat,_ the pretty setter thinks wryly.

By the time they've packed up and herded the team onto the bus, the sun sets low. The bus feels cramped, a lumbering coach, ten teenage boys, and their bags of equipment take up more space than should be humanly possible. Bokuto slides into his familiar spot next to Akaashi, the ace's broad shoulders bumping into Akaashi's lean frame.

"Alright morons," the coach barks as usual, tapping his pen against the clipboard as he scans the bus for attendance. "It's a long drive back, so rest up. I don't want to hear a single peep-"

"Shit."

All eyes swivel to Bokuto, whose shaking his phone in wild frustration. Akaashi catches the signature black and yellow lights from Pac-Man lighting up his screen.

"Fuck you and your mom, Blinky. You think your better than me, huh?" The older boy growls at the phone.

The setter internally groans. _Again with fucking Pac-Man?_ He snatches the device from Bokuto's hands, causing the ace to turn to him, mouth open in protest, but Akaashi shoots him a look.

"Bokuto, Coach is talking." He hisses as quietly as possible.

Bokuto pauses, glancing up to indeed see their towering Coach glowering at him.

"Oh, hey Coach!" Bokuto chirps, even sending the fearsome man a friendly wave. "You wanna have a go at Pac-Man?"

The coach’s eye twitches, and he ignores the ace, opting instead to ramble about practice tomorrow and protocols for the Kantou tournament. He turns to sit back down, but hesitates.

"Uh, goodjobguys," he grumbles out, shoving his mouth into the sleeve of his sweatshirt sleeve.

Bokuto grins wickedly. "What was that, Coach? I couldn't catch that."

"Yeah, Coach. I'm sorry, but I seem to have missed that too. You know how hearing gets when your old." Konoha chirps behind them.

"I said good job you idiots." Coach all but screams in their faces, his cheeks burning bright red. "Now, shut ya traps, and leave your old man alone."

He slouches down in his seat, huffing about annoying teenagers and high blood pressure. Akaashi can't help but laugh, and so can't the rest of the team as they slap their hands over their mouths to muffle their giggles. Akaashi likes this. He feels on top of the world, surrounded by Bokuto and his team, the high from victory coursing through his veins. This is pure happiness.

Eventually, the bus falls silent, the exhausted boys slumping over each other with sleep, but the setter’s lips still curve in a ghost of a smile. Akaashi glances over towards Bokuto, surprised to find the ace staring pensively at the leather seat in front of him.

"Bokuto-san," Akaashi calls out hesitantly. "What are you thinking?"

Bokuto turns to him, golden eyes intense. "Do you think..." Bokuto pauses, eyes downcast.

"Yes?"

Bokuto doesn't answer for a few seconds. "Don't laugh at me, okay 'Kaashi?"

Akaashi's eyebrows scrunch together in concern.

“Of course not, Bokuto-san.” He reassures gently, trying to peer at Bokuto. “You know I’m here, no matter what you need.”

Perhaps it’s the unusually soft tone, or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s Akaashi, but Bokuto murmurs, eyes still glued on the floor. “Do you think I can be a good ace?”

Akaashi’s heart drops at Bokuto’s timidness. Forget ace, Akaashi wants to shout at him. Bokuto can easily build his future on the national level. Akaashi is the first to dream of Bokuto's dreams before the older boy can even fathom them. It's almost blinding, really, Akaashi realizes, how much the universe adores Bokuto. To create a being destined for immeasurable greatness- Akaashi shakes his head, nearly overwhelmed by Bokuto's potential.

"Bokuto-san," Akaashi selects his words carefully. "I think..." he swallows hard before continuing, "I think you could easily be the best ace this world has ever seen, so... dream bigger, okay?"

Bokuto stills, the weight of Akaashi's implied words suddenly hitting him, and inside, a new, bigger, better, brighter dream begins to bloom. Silently, Akaashi vows to help Bokuto reach his seedling of a dream, too new and fragile to even be spoken aloud. Whatever Bokuto is afraid to hope for, Akaashi will do everything possible to give the star.

Falling in love with him, though, was not part of the plan.

******


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART for all your support, kudos, and comments!! I cannot tell you guys how many times I read the comments and then like - internally combust - inside. Y'all are so sweet : ' ). 
> 
> So anyways, here we are. Please enjoy, and, as always, your support is much loved.
> 
> In which Bokuto is Meg the Stallion’s biggest fan. Fact: Meg the Stallion fans radiate BDE.

[Please Click for Song :))))](https://open.spotify.com/track/6MrEz3o9Roi0jpUmyKIyXn?si=BZlmnSdQSxOFZIzwJ-wKNw)

  
Fall surrenders to winter, and Akaashi feels like he's only blinked when he catches the scathing cold wind and humid droplets that hint at a heavy snowfall. The air bites his naked hands, and he immediately shoves them into the pockets of his Fukurodani jacket, seeking warmth and finding none in the thin material of the cloth. Once again, Akaashi's forgotten his gloves in the hazy rush of high school mornings. Somehow, it was possible for his life to become even more busy- towering stacks of assignments from the 11 subjects he studied, college prep assessments that needed immediate reading, and longer, more intense volleyball practices that dragged until dinner-often times near midnight- if he counted the daily extra practices with Bokuto, but he can't find it in himself to consider the additional practices inconveniencing, much less burdensome. Somehow, after practice, Akaashi always leaves with Bokuto-who constantly insists on paying for dinner when they stop at the nearby convenience store Bokuto works at- with an extra bounce in the setter’s step, a ghost of a smile hidden behind an impassive face. 

_Weakness #3: Bokuto often foregoes sleep in exchange for midnight shifts at the convenience store._

Akaashi tells himself it's the dangling promise of free ramen, though he’s never accepted nor plans to accept Bokuto's offer of payment despite the ace’s protests of employee discounts, when he finds himself looking forward to their extra practices. 

But just because Akaashi lo- enjoys, he frantically corrects- practicing with Bokuto, doesn't mean there are no consequences, and god, Akaashi can't remember the last time every muscle in his body ached this bad. Bokuto's endless energy is certainly a strength, but it also means Akaashi's forced to match a seemingly infinite series of stunning spikes with just as capable tosses. 

_Best tosses,_ Bokuto’s voice corrects in his head. 

A flush immediately explodes upon his pale cheeks, and he hopes his team will believe him when he attributes it to the frigid cold outside. He hurries inside, so eager to escape the impending winter storm that he almost topples Komi's small body over when he steps into the locker room. He squeezes through the small silver of the door opening, careful to not hurt anyone. In front of him sits his team, excluding Bokuto, huddled protectively around a decent-sized pile of boxes of chocolates and valentines with serious expressions: Sarukui's thinned lips, Konoha's determined eyes, Washio's impassive face- ok, well to be fair, Akaashi's pretty sure Washio always looks like that.

"Ah, Akaashi," Konoha chirps, his dark eyes brightening when he notices the pretty boy. " My young konhai. Come, we have much to discuss."

He scrunches his eyebrows as he plops down next to the blonde-haired boy, the setter's long legs folding beneath him before his quick eyes catch a familiar purple and yellow wrapped box of chocolates- caramel to be exact, Washio's favorite kind- buried underneath the pile. 

"Washio-san," he questions, tilting his head quizzically as he recalls the exact expression of pure exuberance that lit up Washio's face when he received the sweets. "Aren't those the chocolates your girlfriend gave you?" 

The older boy nods solemnly before stating, "Some sacrifices must be made for the greater good." 

"I see." He muses like he had a single fucking clue what was going on. "And what, perhaps, is this greater good?"

"To utterly annihilate Bokuto." 

Akaashi blinks. "Ah, right of course.”

He pauses, the words finally sinking in.

“...Why exactly are you "utterly annihilating" Bokuto-san?"

''Not I, Akaashi, _we._ There’s no I in team.” Konoha interjects.

Akaashi is tempted to tell the older boy there’s no we in team either, but one brief glance at Konoha’s agitated face makes him reconsider. Especially when Konoha sighs exasperatedly, explaining as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Bokuto is completely selfish, a two-faced, lying, no good, trash ass, dumpster snorting, gar-" 

"He receives the most confessions every year." Washio offers helpfully.

"-bage eating, rat looking, sick-" 

Sarukui slaps a hand over Konoha's mouth, effectively silencing the fuming blonde. "It's sort of been a tradition to compare who recieves the most Valentines each year, and the entire team has to do whatever the winner says for a whole week." 

"Do I look like I wanna become Bokuto's bitch?" Konoha complains frustratedly as he managed to escape Sarukui's grip before the brunette silences him again. 

Sarukui continues casually. "So, now we just combine all our Valentines and say it's Konoha's or something," he whistles lowly. "Bokuto's literally impossible to beat, though."

"Last year he got... er 57?" Komi scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, 57 Valentines. Completely blew the third-year's out of the water too." 

"Why does a single man need 57 confessions, I ask you?" Konoha argues. "This is why we should only let ugly people onto this team-"

He glances at Akaashi, a flawless replica of gracefully carved marble frozen in time with piercing emerald eyes and dark strands that curled deliciously against his ears. 

"-You know what? Never mind."

"Exactly!" Komi smiles, and he claps his hands in delight at the fact that Akaashi was now up to date. "Now Akaashi, hand over your Valentines." 

The younger boy shifts uncomfortably, the backpack tucked underneath the crook of his arm suddenly weighing heavy as it bulges grossly with cards and chocolates. A desperate attempt to make his bag less conspicuous left the attractive setter frantically stuffing some of the gifts into his overflowing lunchbox in the corner of the boy’s bathroom. He wonders how pissed his team mates would be if they found out.

"Hurry before Bokuto-" 

Suddenly, the door flings open with such a reverberating bang, Akaashi's positive another dent has been added to the poor wall.

"I'm here!" A familiarly deep voice gleefully announces. 

They collectively groan.

Bokuto leans down and peers at the pile of boxes in the middle of his team, the ace's chest brushing against Akaashi's curls with each exhale. Akaashi stops breathing. 

"Oya?" Bokuto chuckles before smirking. "Trying to cheat your way to victory? That won't work... especially this year." 

Then, Bokuto grins so confidently and brilliantly Akaashi's heart stutters. 

_He looks really, really good._

And he does. His uniform is messy as always, shirt untucked, tie loosened, but somehow the clothes, too short as if tailored to a younger Bokuto, still hug his muscular frame almost illegally. Akaashi drinks in shining golden eyes, shirt sleeves-fraying at the edges- rolled up to reveal toned forearms, and pants straining against sculpted thighs when the ace bends down. 

Blush explodes across Akaashi's cheeks, and he leans away, heart hammering in his chest. Thankfully, Komi interrupts them, grumbling "Okay, Bokuto. How many did you get this year? 60?"

The silver-haired smirks. "Try 84, Komi."

”...”

A silence ensues as his team's mouths drop open, a bit in shock, a bit in admiration, and perhaps a bit in envy. Konoha’s eye twitches in a way that leaves Akaashi heavily concerned for Bokuto’s well-being. 

"What the fuck?" Sarukui is the first to speak.

”This cannot be possible.” 

“Bokuto, I’m going to murder you.”

Bokuto chuckles. “Don’t feel too down, Konoha.” He brags, resting a hand on his hip. “After all, Meg would say only hot girls win.” 

Akaashi can’t help but release a sigh. Bokuto’s current obsession? Meg the Stallion. Understandable, but he felt like there had to be a limit to the amount of times a sleep-deprived teenager should listen to Cocky Af at six in the morning.

The silver-haired continues on as if Konoha wasn’t seriously debating stapling the ace’s fingers to his face. “It’s okay if-“

”Bokuto, do not finish that sentence.” Konoha warns. 

”... others don’t think you’re not a hot girl, Konoha. I think you’re-“.

Akaashi, with a soft sigh, expertly dodges Konoha’s flying body as the blonde springs up from his seat on the ground and tackles Bokuto, only Konoha’s foot catches in the strap of his bulging backpack. The ravenhead helplessly watches in horror as the bag tips over and sends piles upon piles of chocolates tumbling out with a thud. Suddenly, several pairs of eyes, all brimming with shock and disbelief, flit to Akaashi- or more specifically, the towering stack of gifts Akaashi had recieved for Valentines Day. He winces every time his friends’s eyes skimmed over a colorful box, adorned with wobbly hearts and initials. For once, even Bokuto is silent. 

"Akaashi," Bokuto strangles out. "How many confessions did you receive?"

"I don't know." He admits in a sort of strangled out moan, eyes still downcast and unable to meet the gaze of his team out of embarrassment. 

So, his team spends the next few minutes painstakingly counting each and every box until finally Konoha leans back against his arms and, with an awed voice, mutters to himself. "Holy crap. 97."

Akaashi flinches hard and several shocked sets of eyes swivel towards him. 

"Akaashi."

“Bokuto-san, I’m-“

“I...lost?” Familiar golden eyes, full of hurt, focus on the setter as Bokuto trembles. 

Konoha slaps the ace on the back in what Akaashi assumes is supposed to be comforting, but the sickening thud suggests otherwise. “I’m sorry, Bokuto.” Konoha apologizes, not sounding the slightest bit apologetic. He smiles happily and drawls out in the most sadistically gleeful voice possible, “Welp, I guess this means you’re not a hot girl either. Welcome to the club.” 

Bokuto’s shoulders drop even more at Konoha’s words, and Akaashi sends a sharp glare to the blonde, whose suddenly developed an interest in whistling a tune that sounds suspiciously like the backbeat to WAP.

The pretty setter turns to the ace and soothes in the most gentle voice."Perhaps you'll have better luck next year, Bokuto-san. I heard older men are very in right now." 

Bokuto perks up at the prospect of reclaiming his victory next year. 

"Besides," Akaashi adds, heaving himself up on his hands. "Aren't you late for something? I thought Coach wanted to talk to you and Sato-san about line-ups for next year." 

Indeed, Bokuto has mentioned, a quick interjection breaking his rant about why the elimination of all spiders would be just as beneficial as world peace, that Coach Yamji wanted to speak to the vice captain and captain about some issues for next year, and as soon as the words had left Bokuto's lips, Akaashi mentally noted the meeting- just in case Bokuto forgot. Now, the blue-eyed setter watches, in a sort of half amusement/ half concern, as the older boy's eyes grow impossibly wide before he bolts out the room, releasing a loud string of expletives that would put even the most experienced of sailors to shame in his wake. 

The rest of the team stares at the quickly disappearing back of their ace, well accustomed by now to Bokuto’s forgetfulness and cursing. They tug on their practice uniforms before heading to the gym for practice, a somber mood settling over the room. The Tokyo Training Camp, and, consequently, Nationals approached at a terrifying pace, causing the boys to endure longer and more intense practices that left their heads spinning. In fact, Akaashi’s hunched over, gasping in too thin air after a particularly brutal run, when Marasuno, their former, third year setter, rubs his back. 

“Hey, Akaashi-kun. You’re with me today. Coach said to explain everyone’s favorite tosses. Y’know, bring out the full potential of the team and all that good stuff.” He slings an arm across Akaashi's shoulders, smiling wickedly as if they were planning to rob a bank or something instead of just practicing volleyball. 

The younger boy glances up, meeting Marasuno’s shaggy, brown locks and crooked grin. He nods, and the older boy leads him to the back corner, where a cart full of the familiar red, green, and white of the Molten volleyballs sits. Marasuno grabs one, squeezing the ball in his hands, as he begins. 

“Okay, so what do you know about setting?” 

He doesn’t even have to think. The words spill out, exact ones he knows the former setter is looking for. “Each player has their own weaknesses and strengths, and it’s the setter’s job to have the team complement one another.” 

The brunette grins at him. “Good, but did you know each player prefers a different toss?” 

Akaashi nods, his mind rolling through what he's already learned. Bokuto likes his high, fast, and far from the net, but Konoha prefers his lower and slower. Washio is the same too, but does best when the set is close to the net. Sarukui hits best-

"Okay," the older boy interrupts his thoughts and grabs a volleyball from the cart, spinning it skillfully in his hands. _Narrow, thin hands with long fingers_ , Akaashi notices. _The ideal hands of any setter,_ _and Akaashi has no clue how he managed to make the team when he’s surrounded by nothing but talent that far surpasses his own_. "I want you to toss to me like I'm Washio-kun."

Marasuno tosses the ball to him in a decent receive, no where as close to accurate as the ones Bokuto throws, and Akaashi lunges to the left to meet the ball. His fingers stretch out, thrumming in anticipation, as he chants Washio's sets in his head. _High. Fast. Close._ And then, when the leather grazes the tips of his fingers, he curls his toes before propelling himself up into the air until he's looking down at the opposite side of the cart. Skillful fingers build a perfect set. _High. Fast. Close._ Marasuno stares at the toss, mouth ajar in awe, and the ball spirals towards the ground before bouncing off, a brilliant toss wasted. 

Akaashi turns towards the older boy. "Was that adequate enough, Marasuno senpai? I apologize if it may have been a bit too high."

"Are you kidding Akaashi? It's great." Marasuno smacks his jaw closed, staring at Akaashi with a newfound reverence in his eyes. "Okay, now show me your toss for Konoha."

And Akaashi, flawlessly, sends a dazzling toss that molded to Konoha's exact needs, and then another one for Sarukui.

Again.

And, again.

The older setter calls out their team members' names, and Akaashi sends perfect sets each time- for Sato-san, their captain, or Kobayashi, a third-year middle blocker, or Abe, an outside hitter who would occasionally sub in for Sarukui. He wrings his hands, the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach intensifying when he finally realizes the reason behind it. 

"You haven't mentioned Bokuto-san." His voice is firm and unflinching, a stark contrast from the unsettlingly deep feeling in his gut. 

Marasuno simply shrugs, brown eyes hardening strangely. “Seems like a waste of time to me, right?"

The churning in the bottom of his stomach worsens, and Akaashi tries to block out the hints of a cruel truth that peek at him. Surely, he was just overthinking the situation as usual, but before he can further question Marasuno, Coach Yamji's door flies open, and Bokuto, silver hair tumbling into bright eyes, marches out with a wide grin splitting his face. He scans the room, clearly in search, before his eyes land on Akaashi, and, if even possible, his smile grows even bigger. 

"Akaashi!" 

The corners of Akaashi’s lips tilt upwards involuntarily, a remnant of muscle memory, and he glances to his left, but Marasuno is already gone.

*****

That night, Akaashi doesn't reach home until well past midnight, his legs sore from running those extra laps with Bokuto as the vice-captain's penalty for his tardiness. Of course, the raven head thinks with a scoff, Bokuto didn't see more physical exertion as a punishment. 

_What's an extra mile or two to Bokuto when the man wakes up at the ass crack of dawn for a jog?_

He shifts in his bed and tucks the fleece blanket underneath his chin. Really, he tried everything not to think about it, but now, unable to sleep with the soft hum of crickets outside his window, he stares up at the blank ceiling, wondering why Bokuto suddenly couldn't meet his eyes during their additional practice. The ace practically skipped back to practice as soon as Coach Yamji has released them, and Bokuto's face broke out into a huge grin upon meeting Akaashi's gaze. 

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Akaashi!" The older boy slings an arm across the setter's shoulders, pulling them close together until Akaashi can distinguish the sandalwood from the spice in Bokuto's scent. 

"Hello, Bokuto-san." He greets back. Akaashi tries to push some distance between them because his stomach is suddenly doing somersaults and tumbles that leave him with that strange feeling again. "You seem happy.''

"Oh?" Bokuto peers knowingly at him as a smirk dances across his attractive face. " That's because I got to pick my vice-"

He stops suddenly, slapping a hand against his mouth as if he almost revealed a secret, and pulls away from Akaashi with a start. Akaashi can't help but miss the warmth Bokuto takes with him. 

"Bokuto-san?" 

Bokuto suddenly develops a strong fascination with a scratch in the wood flooring. 

"I...uh," he strangles out hesitantly. " We just talked about vice-captain/ captain stuff." 

Akaashi raises an eyebrow, but doesn't pry. 

"Okay.”

Bokuto doesn't meet his eyes for the rest of practice. 

****

Thankfully, Akaashi doesn't have too much time to dwell on it because Bokuto returns to normal by the next morning, clicking his tongue when the older boy notices Akaashi's forgotten his gloves again. With a long reprimand ("Akaashi! Where are your gloves? You’re gonna get sick, and then, whose gonna eat lunch with me?” Akaashi finds Bokuto’s genuine worries a bit amusing. He’s pretty sure the girls in his home room have a memorized schedule of Bokuto’s whereabouts and definitely would not mind accompanying the attractive older boy to lunch.) Bokuto hastily tugs off his own gloves before shoving them into Akaashi's hands. The setter freezes, shock creeping up his body. 

"Bokuto-san," he insists, shaking his head adamantly. Akaashi stares at the gloves in his hands, the light blue threads slightly unraveling from years of use. They’re worn-out and frayed, like many of Bokuto’s belongings, but still warm and comforting in a way that reminds Akaashi of the bright eyed boy next to him. A sudden, intense ache of longing- _for what, Akaashi wonders-_ washes over him. “I can't take this."

Akaashi tries to offer the pieces of wool back to Bokuto, but Bokuto-annoyingly infuriatingly sweet Bokuto- just laughs before crossing his hands behind his head, the fabric of his black sweater straining against his arms. 

The older boy peers down at him, golden eyes glimmering with warmth and laughter. "Keep it, Akaashi. What type of senpai would I be if I let my konhai get sick?" 

_Weakness #4: Bokuto never thinks about himself first._

And then, Bokuto smiles, and Akaashi watches the way the sunlight catches on the planes of his cheeks, tiny kaleidoscope fragments of light suspended around the star. Akaashi blinks, forgetting the freezing temperatures and biting wind. Of course, the gloves helped too, and the setter tells himself its because of the extra layer of clothing, not the boy with sunrise eyes next to him, when his chest suddenly feels warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys!!! I'm not sure when the next update will be since college will start pretty soon, and ochem will beat my ass but hopefully, within a month!!! 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on the story below!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg it’s been almost a month djdjdjsdjs I had such a weird writer’s block bc I hate writing the first part of the book like can I go to where Keiji gets his heart broken 😭😭 love him sm tho!!! thanks for sticking to it guys!! It means a lot<33

Bokuto’s head lolls onto Akaashi’s shoulder, fitting snuggly into the crook of Akaashi’s neck where collar bones expand into chest. He pokes Bokuto’s forehead, but the older boy just mumbles incoherently, completely passed out and mouth slightly ajar, and Akaashi knows by the time Bokuto wakes up, there’ll be drool all over his shirt.

_Weakness #5: Bokuto begins drooling exactly 14 minutes into his sleep._

He supposes he could always wake Bokuto up, but the ace looks so peaceful, a curtain of silver hair that nearly hides his eyes and his features relaxed. It’s a stark contrast to the exuberance and brightness typical on Bokuto’s face, but Akaashi thinks there’s something just as worthwhile in a calm, tranquil Bokuto- even with the ace’s drool. Truly, it’s quite unbecoming to meet the rest of the Tokyo teams with a giant stain of saliva on your t-shirt, but fortunately, Akaashi had the hindsight to pack an extra change of clothes just in case of situations like these. 

The bus screeches to a halt, jolting its occupants forward, and Akaashi’s arms immediately reach out to secure his friend without thought. Bokuto’s eyes flutter a few times, but remain closed, and Akaashi sighs in relief. 

“Alright, pumpkins,” the coach barks as he turns off the ignition and strides to the middle of the aisle, hands locked on his hips. “We’re here. I want everyone on their best behavior, and please for the love of god do not embarrass me.” He sends a pointed glare at a Konoha and Bokuto, both of whom are hibernating deep within the REM sleep cycle. “Up and moving. Grab your stuff. I want everyone’s ass to be out the door in 5.”   
  
A chorus of grumbles and shuffling feet follow Coach Yamji’s announcement. Akaashi is debating the best way to wake up Bokuto, when a familiar, smug voice interrupts from next to him. 

“Bokuto fell asleep on you again?” Marasuno chuckles humorlessly, glancing down at the younger duo. “You know you don’t have to deal with _him_ , right?” 

Akaashi shifts uncomfortably, biting his tongue against unbecoming words. “I don’t mind.”   
  
Cloudy gray eyes narrow on him, watchful, calculating, before they vanish and Marasuno smiles at him. “Right.” He ruffles Akaashi’s hair. “Well, better wake him up. Don’t forget Coach wants has extra practice for us.” 

Akaashi nods, watches the older setter’s back disappear as he steps off the bus, and gently nudged Bokuto awake. 

“Bokuto-san, please wake up.” 

Bokuto, for his part, does awake with a startled yelp and flying hands that narrowly miss Akaashi’s cheek. 

“Oh, you scared me, Ak- is that Shinzen?” Bokuto glances out the window, pressing his nose against the glass like an excited child in awe. He swivels his head back around to look at Akaashi, eyes shining unnaturally bright. 

“C’mon, Akaashi!” He stumbles excitedly out of the seat, dragging Akaashi’s hand behind him. “You gotta meet Kuroo.” 

Through the countless recollections and stories Bokuto’s gushed about for the past few months, Akaashi feels like he’s practically met the guy. He’s a middle blocker for Nekoma, loves to provoke people, and is highly intelligent (“Almost as smart as you, Akaashi!” Bokuto chirps). The cherry on top? Kuroo’s also Bokuto’s best friend, and Bokuto doesn’t have to tell Akaashi that. He deduced that easily enough.

Outside, the sun glares down upon them as they tumble off the bus, Akaashi’s hand warmly engulfed by Bokuto’s wider ones, but the setter’s longer fingers allow him to fold them over calloused knuckles perfectly. Bokuto is rambling, something about the one time Kuroo dared him to streak naked across the camp last year, and usually Akaashi would offer an occasional remark- perhaps even a snide comment. It’s not the first time Bokuto’s grabbed his hand in a successful attempt to drag him somewhere, the younger setter helplessly trailing behind him, but right now the sight of their interlocked hands captures his whole focus because, for the first time, Akaashi stumbles upon the realization that the warm tingling in the back of his spine and racing heart means that he actually likes it. 

He likes holding hands with Bokuto, likes his soft touches, no matter how fleeting or platonic they may be.

_Fuck._

_*****_

Akaashi hunches over, hands resting on slightly bent knees, as he gasps in lungfuls of air. He wipes the sweat, a result of playing four back-to-back practice matches, off his brow, and instead focuses on the dirty floor beneath him. 

“Akaashi-kun,” the third year captain rubs his back in comfort. “Why don’t you sit this one out?”   
  
Akaashi glances up, eyes settling not on their captain, but rather on his team currently on the court: Komi skidding against tile for a narrow save, Konoha sending a perfect receive to Sarukui, Bokuto soaring, flying in the air as he spikes the ball past an impossible wall of blockers that suddenly becomes possible. All of it steals his breath away, and -even though Akaashi’s lungs burn and he feels as if there’s not enough oxygen in this world to sate him- he finds that he doesn’t mind being breathless a little bit longer if it means he can watch the wonder that is his team.

“Can’t,” he pants out. “Who will toss for the team then?”

A cold hand rests on his other shoulder, and he can almost feel the weight of murky gray eyes gazing upon him. 

“That’s why I’m here, right Akaashi-kun?” 

Marasuno looks confident as he gets up from the bench and tugs his practice jersey over his uniform. There’s no heavy breaths or drops of sweat from the older boy, whose spent the last four games- three watching Fukurōdani and one watching Akaashi when he set for Shinzen after their setter twisted his ankle in the last game- sitting on the bench, fingers drumming against his side.

Saiko nods, exchanging a brief glance with their Coach for permission, before Marasuno is jogging onto the court, hands already shaking in anticipation. 

Somehow, Akaashi is slightly relieved, at least his body his, but his mind is a different story. For the first time since his arrival at Fukurōdani, he watches his team play a full match, and ,holy fuck, if they aren’t talented. He wonders how he fits into this miracle, skilled players who climbed their way to nationals, Bokuto at the head front, leading. There’s fate and then there’s luck, a strange, graceful mistake the universe made, because it’s luck that lets him play on Fukurōdani amongst team mates far above him. He’s always reaching, hoping one day he’ll become skilled enough so they longer have to pick up after him. 

Akaashi is deep in his thoughts when the sharp shrill of the ref’s whistle breaks his attention.

He shakes his before returning his gaze to the game, only to notice they've suddenly began losing the game, trailing slightly behind Shinzen. It makes him freeze because, logically, they were the better 6 with Komi's dives, Konoha's stability, Sarukui's receives. Especially with the weapon of Bokuto -nearly peaking into the abilities of a national ace-on their side, winning seemed so likely. He studies the game more intensely, trying to pinpoint where it had all gone wrong, and the air rushes out of his lungs. 

Oh. 

Bokuto is fidgeting in the corner of left court, hunched awkwardly as if to make himself invisible. Despite the rotations, the ball never comes to Bokuto, comes to the players right next to him, behind him, in front of him, but never to Bokuto, the one whose devotion to the game is mind blowing.

Marasuno is not tossing to Bokuto, and, watching from the sides, feeling slightly empty without that familiarity of stepping onto the court alongside his team, Akaashi can’t help but feels like he’s made a mistake not being with them.

*****

Bokuto leaves immediately after the game, eyes swallowing the floor and unable to meet anyone else's or the losing scoreboard flashing with the numbers 21-25. Akaashi’s tempted to chase after him, but perhaps Bokuto recuperates best alone? He’s not sure because Bokuto is still all very new to him, not to mention a bit puzzling. Should he? Should he? Should he?

He shouldn’t.

He paused. Fuck it, he thinks and bolts out with the metal doors clanging shut behind him. He can hear Marasuno’s voice calling his name in the background, but perhaps, just this once, he can worry about it later. 

He’s so intent on demanding his legs to move faster, he misses the person in front of him and goes crashing into their back. His face presses against hard muscle as he stumbles back before strong arms secure him. There’s only one other person built like this he realizes in the back of his mind, and- 

“Akaashi?” 

Bokuto stares at him, and Akaashi watches the sadness and surprise flit through his eyes. Truth be told, he hadn’t really thought this far ahead, about what he would actually do once he caught up to Bokuto.

“Are you okay?” Akaashi asks nervously. 

Bokuto releases his hold on his waist and takes a step back. Akaashi’s never seen Bokuto like this. It feels like there’s a barrier between them, and he knows it’s Bokuto simply trying to play things off. 

“Sure,” the ace chuckles, but it’s devoid of any warmth or humor. 

“Bokuto-san, you can talk to me if you want.” Akaashi offers.

“What’s there to talk about?” Bokuto’s voice is small, and angry, and hard. 

“Bokuto-san-“

”I couldn’t help my team.” He reveals quietly, sliding down until his head was between his knees. “I’m the ace, aren’t I? So why can’t I be the ace they need?”

Akaashi is quiet, mind racing a million miles a second because, of course, he knew about Bokuto’s moods and, to a certain extent, how to console him, but how does he reassure Bokuto now, at the most defeated he’s ever seen him? Of course, Akaashi knows the feeling of playing on a team that’s too above you- the awe, the adoration, and the rising insecurities and quiet guilt you try to squash down, but not anywhere close to the level he imagines Bokuto experiences as the vice-captain and ace of a national team. All eyes will always be on him, whether in victory or in defeat. 

“Bokuto-san, did you know you scored 14 of our 21 points?” Akaashi asks him quietly, bending down until he’s eye-level with silver strands. 

“Yeah, but they needed me to score more.” Bokuto’s voice is muffled as he buries his head further in his knees.

Cautiously, ever so cautiously, Akaashi puts a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. It’s warm and strong, much like the rest of Bokuto, and Akaashi can feel the soft rise and fall of it whenever Bokuto breathes. 

He never thought the feel of someone’s breath, the knowledge that they were alive and here, could be so beautiful. 

Akaashi steels his voice. “What they need,” he begins. “Is for you to come back. There are more games we need you to win.”

Slowly, Bokuto raises his head and peeks out at him from in between his fingers. 

“You do?” He asks confused, and his voice is so hesitant and sad, but also a little hopeful, and Akaashi knows they’ll be alright. Bokuto is strong like that. 

”We do.” Akaashi admits. “Listen, Bokuto-san, being a true ace, in every sense of the word, is something that will always be a part of you. No one can take that away, not even yourself. Do you know what I mean?”   
  
By now, Bokuto has fully come out of his den, bright eyes staring in pure gratitude at Akaashi. Akaashi looks away and he doesn’t know why. 

“Nope!” Bokuto chirps. “But you sounded super cool saying that, Akaashi!” Bokuto scrunches his face and does a poor imitation of Akaashi that sounds like Darth Vader with a really terrible cold. “Being a true ace, in every sense of the word, is something that will always be a part of you.” 

Akaashi rolls his eyes and stands up, ready to return a back and begin cramming for his next wave of midterms.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto suddenly calls out. 

“Yeah?”

Bokuto smiles at him- real, genuine, and warm. “Thank you.”   
  
Above him, the sun glares down, almost dipping into the horizon. “Of course, Bokuto-san.” His mouth feels dry as the words leave Akaashi’s mouth.

The older boy hums, and their eyes lock for a second too long. Then, suddenly, Bokuto sneezes, and the air around them vanishes like a figment of imagination.

“Wanna go get food now, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto questions as he stands up. There are grass stains all over his butt and knees, but Akaashi decides not to comment. “Man, I’m so hungry I could eat a whole room of yakiniku.” 

Akaashi’s stomach grumbles, but that’s quickly pushed aside in favor of studying. “I have exams.” 

“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto whines, all too familiarly.

The setter ignores him until a scheming voice calls out from behind him.

“We could get onigiri,” Bokuto sings.

Akaashi narrows his eyes. _Bokuto has become too dangerous._

”Okay, I’ll go.” 

Bokuto cheers and offers Akaashi a big, giant, sweaty hug that Akaashi quickly pushes away, but there’s a ghost of a smile painting his lips. Bokuto is still jumping excitedly, occasionally shouting happy outbursts about food and volleyball and Akaashi. It’s loud and chaotic, and Akaashi is exhausted to the depths of his bone, but there’s nothing that can beat this. The sun has long departed, night settling in, and Akaashi feels warm. It flutters in his chest, like a small bird about to take flight for the first time.

”Okay, Akaashi.” Bokuto turns to look at him. “Lemme go grab some money, and you can study, and then we can go in 10 minutes!” 

Akaashi snorts. “Ten minutes to you is an hour to everyone else, Bokuto-san.”

“‘Kaashiii.” The ace pouts at the jab. 

“Kidding.” Akaashi chuckles. “Better late than never right?”

Bokuto nods eagerly, and then he’s rambling on about that one super cool spike he hit in the game against Nekoma, asking if Akaashi was watching him.

“I was, Bokuto-san-“

The older boy cuts in. “Bokuto.” He insists.

“What?”

”You should call me Bokuto!” Bokuto exclaims, brightening at the sudden idea. “I’ve known you for...” He counts in his head. “9 months, so we’re best friends, right? Besides, I call you Akaashi, so it’s only even if you call me Bokuto!”

“I don’t think so.” Akaashi answers. 

“Bokuto-senpai?” 

“No.” 

“Koutarou?” 

“Most definitely not.” 

By they reach the dormitory doors that serve as the housing quarters for the team, Bokuto’s run off to haggle some change and Akaashi grabs his backpack before plopping down at an empty table in the library, determined to make the most of his one hour and learn as much as possible about differential equations.

He falls asleep within the next minute.

****** 

Bokuto finds Yukie in one of the old classrooms, watching a sappy rom-com from the 90’s on her laptop. He debates whether he should go in and ask now because Yukie in general is scary, but interrupting Yukie during her rom-com is practically begging for a death wish. 

He steps inside the room and waves at her.  
“Hey, Yukie!”

Bokuto instantaneously ducks at the shoe that comes hurling his way. The sandal crashes into the blackboard behind him and sends a tuft of smoke in its wake. He winces, glancing down at the white heel. It looks expensive. 

“You.” Yukie snarls as she glares at him with furious brown eyes and a pointed finger. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

Bokuto digs the sole of his sneaker into the teal linoleum tiles and watches the dirty shoes grow more worn-out. The tip of it falls off. 

“Um...money?” He offers meekly. 

The silence that greets him is terrifying, and he waits another second before there’s a clatter of chairs and Yukie is scrambling intently towards him, looking absolutely murderous. 

He makes a mental reminder to warn Konoha about her. Clearly, Konoha has never seen Yukie angry and reeking of blood-lust because there’s no way you can find her pretty when you’re currently screaming bloody-murder and sprinting like your life depended on it, which, in all honesty, it probably did. Yukie finally catches up to him and tackles him with a scream. Her momentum sends the two of them flying across the hard floor, but not before Bokuto manages to secure her, paying special attention to cushion her head from the fall. For a moment, just the sound of their labored breathing fills the air.

”So...” Bokuto tentatively drawls.

Yukie sighs, finally giving in, as she spins to face Bokuto. "Bokuto, why in the world do you need money at the training camp? We have everything here- food, showers, beds. And you still owe me the 2,500 yen from when you took Akaashi to the movies last week." 

"Well," the ace rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just wanted to take Akaashi to one of the onigiri restaurants here. Y'know Onigiri Bongo? I think he would like it."

Yukie stares at the light blush dusting Bokuto's cheeks, his golden eyes flitting in embarrassment, the tiny frown on his attractive face, and she already knows her answer before the words leave her tongue.

"Fine," she relents. She rolls off Bokuto and digs through her purse for a few crisp yen bills before shoving them into Bokuto's hands. "But you know, Akaashi’s not the type of person to worry about this stuff.” 

Bokuto hums. Yukie is right, of course. He knows Akaashi is the last person to care about how much money Bokuto has or who’s wearing the latest pair of sneakers, but Akaashi is too good to him. He takes care of Bokuto, doesn’t get angry at him for his moods, or annoyed at his loudness. Bokuto never feels the weighted, scrutinizing stares -the ones just waiting for him to fall- from Akaashi. No, he thinks. Akaashi is understanding and kind, and Bokuto feels like he’s staring at a gentle sea, endless for miles, when he looks at Akaashi. Even if Akaashi doesn’t care for this, what else can Bokuto give him? There’s not much Bokuto can offer, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for Akaashi to leave, but until then, perhaps the setter will stay if Bokuto showers him in what the ace never had, even if most days the ace barely can scrap together enough change for some instant ramen.

 _Akaashi is a good friend like that._  
  
Bokuto’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he finishes counting the money. “Yukie? You gave me 3000-"

She cuts him off, unable to meet his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Bring me back an onigiri, okay"

"Alright, Yukie!" Bokuto brightens at the thought of buying more onigiri for Akaashi, and he gingerly smoothes out the bills before tucking them away carefully in the pocket of his pants. Bokuto hurries out of the room, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. "I'll bring you back two onigiris! Thanks so much, Yukie!”

The brunette shakes her head, allowing her bangs to stray into her eyes as she tries to push back the laugh bubbling in her throat.

"Oh, and hey Yukie?" Bokuto's baritone voice breaks her out of her thoughts as the ace peeks his head into the doorway. "One day, I promise to pay you back for everything. Just-" Bokuto takes a deep, shaky breath “-just give me time. Please.”

And with that, the head of silver vanishes from the door frame leaving only the loud patter of sneakers against tile and a small smile on Yukie's face. 

Bokuto’ smile is bigger though. He sprints through the empty halls, the slap of rubber sneakers against hard tile echoing in his ears, but his mind focuses solely on his plans for late that evening. He’s absolutely starving, and perhaps he enjoys training camps a bit more than anyone else because for a few days, he can eat without worrying about the next meal. He won’t lie, eating something else besides microwaveable ramen does wonders. 

He’s daydreaming about the rice balls, how soft and good they would taste when he first bites into one when he finally reaches the library. He’s a little out of breath. The classroom and the library are a few floors apart, but Bokuto rests his hand against the doorframe to quickly catch his breath before he ventures into the dusty room.

It smells like old pages, leather, and something uniquely Akaashi inside. The lights are set to a soft dim, and it’s just enough for Bokuto to catch the titles engraved in the spine of books. He traces a finger against them as he walks towards the back where the desks and chairs are, pausing momentarily when he runs his fingers over _A Brave New World_ \- Akaashi’s current favorite novel of the month. 

He finds Akaashi at the second to last table, fast asleep with his head snuggled in the crook of his elbow and thick textbooks that only smart people like Akaashi can understand splayed around him. Akaashi’s mouth is slightly open, and Bokuto can hear the faint shallow breaths that leave his lips with each inhale and exhale of air. At that moment, Bokuto’s stomach decides to rumble, causing Akaashi to squirm, and Bokuto holds his breath in suspense. He’s tempted to wake Akaashi up because that position cannot be comfortable, but Akaashi looks so peaceful and content that Bokuto thinks waking the younger boy up would feel like running over a rabbit- guilty, sad, and completely unnecessary. Instead, he just quickly shrugs off his white Fukurodani jacket and drapes it over the younger boy’s shoulders, thankful when the dark-haired boy stops shivering a bit. The cold March air nips at Bokuto’s bare skin, raising goosebumps as the ace suddenly pushes back a sneeze.

An idea flits through his head, and he sprints back out of the library, goal set in his mind. On his way, he passes Konoha talking (talking is probably too kind of a word, more like stuttering one-syllable grunts) to a familiar brunette, her brown eyes sparkling with content. Screeching to a halt, Bokuto pauses before backtracking, the paper bills in his pocket weighing heavy and then suddenly weighing nothing as he shoves them into Yukie’s hands without warning. Then, he’s back, bolting to the boy’s dormitory, snatching up a pillow and a few blankets, and mentally apologizing to Konoha for the cold night the poor boy has ahead. 

By the time Bokuto returns to the library, the temperature had dropped considerably, and the thin material of his jacket offers little protection against the cold. Hesitantly, he approaches the younger boy, watching his face set so relaxed. Akaashi’s awake face and his sleeping one are oddly similar, he thinks as he bundles Akaashi in the layers of blanket. He releases a small whoop when Akaashi stops shaking, instead deciding to nuzzle his face further into the warmth. Bokuto smiles, plops back into the chair across from the setter, and whips out his phone to watch the latest MSBY match, making a mental reminder to update Akaashi on the status of their favorite team. He’s not exactly sure why he doesn’t just head back to the boy’s dormitory or hell, even the cafeteria because he’s still ravenous, but it feels wrong. He’s not sure why, not able to explain the details, so he just stays there, promising himself he’ll leave once the game is over.   
  


He falls asleep a few minutes after the Jackals win.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!!（＾ν＾）
> 
> Had to rewrite chapter 4, so sorry about all the confusion guys!!! Anyways, here it is. Hope you enjoy. Also, please stay safe and take of yourselves this weekend <<333

“Akaashi!"

Bokuto barrels toward the ravenhead, ghosts of the words “Can you toss for me, huh? Huh, Akaashi?" already forming on his lips, and Akaashi softens, shoulders loosening and hands stilling.

"Hello, Bokuto-san.'' Akaashi murmurs. He bounces slightly on the tips of his toes, trying to release some of the nervousness that’s suddenly coursing through his body. “I’m practicing with Kenma, so I won’t be able to toss to you...”

He watches Bokuto deflate.

“...right now, but perhaps later.” He jogs away from the silver-haired boy, not even bothering to hide his smile as he hears Bokuto’s cheers from behind him as the older boy scampers off.

Bokuto practically skips to the Nekoma vice-captain, the ace's hands clasped together in a plea. He's even giving Kuroo the fail-safe puppy eyes, big, hopeful orbs of light that Akaashi can never say no to.

“You can’t convince me, dude. I refuse.” Kuroo crosses his arms and declares. He sneaks another side glance at Bokuto, golden eyes pleading adorably, just in case. _Fuck._ “Nope- I’m not- don’t give me.” 

“...Okay, fine.” He sighs defeatedly, and the ace grins with pure happiness.

It makes Akaashi feel better that Kuroo can't say no either.

Kuroo is groaning, tilting his head back in misery, before Bokuto keeps pestering him, and then, Kuroo is sending a wobbly toss to Bokuto, and the ace rockets into the air, golden eyes glimmering with pride as he surveys the other side, searching for a hole in an impenetrable defense. Bokuto slings his arm back, and Akaashi can see the muscles shake from the power inside them. In a flash, with a deafening crack, Bokuto spikes the volleyball flawlessly, despite the less than subpar toss, and it goes hurtling toward the ten foot line, completely annihilating the defense. With the subpar toss, it’s a far cry from Bokuto's good spikes, much less his best ones, but Bokuto still manages to somehow build a powerful kill.

The spike is beautiful, just how everything done by Bokuto is, and it reminds Akaashi of just how lucky he is to toss to him. It’s also a chilling threat of just how untouchable the ace is, far above Akaashi’s grasp, and no matter how hard he tries, he will never be deserving of Bokuto. He thinks he should know his place.

He smiles at his luck, nonetheless, for this one-in-a-billion opportunity to know Bokuto, whose capable of rendering entire rooms quiet. The shot has the gym going utterly silent, many of the younger players staring unabashed in awe while the older players send wary glances to the silver-head ace, their monster of an enemy, the greatest contender for the dreams they've dreamt of their entire lives.

_Weakness #6: Bokuto loves to show off_

_”_ Akaashi! Akaashi!” Bokuto turns to the setter in excitement. “ Did you see that? Huh? Huh? Didn’t I look super awesome?” 

“Yes, I did. Very impressive, Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto brightens under the praise, and then Kuroo congratulates him, placing a warm hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. ”Nice kill.” 

“Bro.” The ace turns his head and answers. "You suck at setting." There's still that unbeatable high that every spike lures out, but it feels wrong... like off and less euphoric coming from Kuroo's toss, and then Kuroo is loudly cursing him out with such a foul mouth that even Akaashi, who spends hours at a time with Bokuto, learns a few words. Yaku, looking completely scandalized, as he slaps his hands over some of the first year’s ears, and Akaashi assumes Kuroo will be in for a treat after this.

”Did anyone tell them it's seven in the morning?” 

He glances at Kenma, the blond not even sparing the older duo a look, and sighs out.“I don't think it would make a difference. ” 

Akaashi met Kenma right after Bokuto introduced Kuroo on the first day, the tiny setter momentarily peeking up from his console to greet Akaashi before going back, and while the Kenma never made an effort to seek out Akaashi at first, they often found themselves clumped together, watching their idiot spikers try to lick their elbows or steal Yaku's clothing before the brunette kicked them in so forcefully in the balls, even Akaashi felt an ounce of sympathy for the two second-years. 

Kenma returns his focus to his game, the little device dinging with a sharp trill indicating Kenma had won. "Fair enough." Kenma mutters before a particularly loud cry draws Akaashi's attention. 

Akaashi glances towards Bokuto and Kuroo, the latter of whom whose yelling obscure obscenities mingled with some chemistry jargon. It’s enough to put sailors and chemists to shame, especially when he snaps. “Bokuto, you fucking spoiled brat. I set to you out of the goodness of my heart, and-”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it!” Bokuto shrieks, and he rubs his ass, still sore from when Kuroo slapped it with a resonating smack during their fight before complimenting in awe “ _Bo, your ass is so fucking nice. Can I do it again?”._ Perhaps Akaashi used to question it a week or two ago, but he’s come to quickly realize that the two older boys have long past the boundaries of conventional platonic friendships. “There is no goodness! Your rice score is a fucking 37 for Christ’s sake.”

”So is yours!” Kuroo argues back, and there’s a moment of silence as the two take in the extent of sins.

“...Fuck.”

”Fuck.” 

Then, Kuroo side eyes the silver head ace. “Bro...should we make it lower?” He questions. 

“First one to 25?” 

“Bet.” 

“Bet,” Bokuto agrees.  
  
Kenma releases a strangled groan, muttering "morons" underneath his breath, at the commotion, and it’s so unexpected Akaashi laughs.

The rare, twinkling sound catching Bokuto’s attention, whose eyes suddenly flit around the room, furiously searching for the owner. He finds him: head gently tilted back, soft midnight curls brushing against his neck, and lips pulled open in a quiet laugh. 

_Woah._

It’s an uncommon sight. Akaashi almost never laughs, and the occurrence always leaves Bokuto with dazed eyes and a tumbling stomach. His heart frantically races, wild, unrestrained, excited, and the only other time he’s ever felt like that is after a particularly killer spike. Of course he’s always been painfully aware of just how exactly pretty Akaashi is- he's not blind, and even if he were, his setter’s beauty is about as inconspicuous as a fucking 18-wheeler hurtling straight towards you. Right, Akaashi-

"Bokuto-san?" Akaashi calls out hesitantly, breaking Bokuto out of his daze and assessing the ace’s gaping mouth and dilated pupils. "Are you alright? You were staring."

Bokuto immediately blushes and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "O-oh. I was?"

Behind him, Kuroo groans. 

*****

Practice is brutal and lasts until noon, which is when they find themselves sprinting to the cafeteria for first dibs, Bokuto and Kuroo (of course) stampeding over the crowd in a frenzy competition with Kuroo shouting some half-assed battle cry about “survival of the fittest” or some other bullshit of the like. Akaashi rolls his eyes, casually ambling next to Kenma as they talk about the their plans for the afternoon, how Kenma’s bought the newest version of Final Fanfasy, how Bokuto’s promised to spend the rest of the day studying for his three midterms next week. By the time Akaashi and Kenma reach the hall, it’s completely crowded with sweaty, shuffling bodies, not a single empty seat in sight.

“Oi!” A voice yells, and Akaash glances towards it only to be met with Bokuto waving his arms wildly over his head to grab their attention. “‘Kaashi! Kenma! We’re over here.” 

The ace happily pats the empty chair to his left and slides a plate overflowing with food once Akaashi,murmuring a soft thanks, sits down. He’s only been there for a few minutes for only a few minutes when the rest of the Fukurodani and Nekoma teams settle in.

Sarukui shuffles in a few seats to his left. He’s taken the time to shower and change into shorts and an old tee that’s several sizes too big, and the shirt shifts as Sarukui leans forward and asks. “Any plans for today? Washio, Yukie, and I were planning to visit the hot springs.” 

That piques Bokuto’s attention because the spoon that was halfway to his mouth suddenly clatters onto the plastic tray. “No way,” he gasps. “Shinzen has a hot springs? Kuroo, bro, did you pack a swimming suit? You’ve definitely been hitting the gym. Doesn’t he look so hot, ‘Kaashi?”

“Not particularly-“

“- And is that an _eight_ pack I noticed in the locker room?”

Akaashi doesn’t even want to unpack that sentence, already trying to bleach the image out of his mind,but Kuroo must have a different opinion because he gapes at Bokuto. “Bro, no way. You think? I’ve been trying to eat more foods with phytoestrogens in them.” 

“Dude, totally. You’re like packing now.” 

“Aw, stop it Bo. You’re making me blush.” 

They grin at each other before Bokuto leans back, and there’s a few grains of rice stuck to his cheeks that Akaashi wants to wipe away. 

_Weakness #7: When eating bento, Bokuto always eats the rice first, but will forget to wipe his mouth.  
_

_“_ Actually, if you guys are going swimsuit shopping, I might tag along too.” Suzemeda adds before blushing in embarrassment as she admits. “I gained a few pounds, so I don’t think my bikini will fit.” 

Bokuto grins at their manager, flashing two big thumbs up.

“Don’t worry Suzemeda! I like chubby girls too.”

Akaashi chokes on the rice he’s eating, but Yukie is one step ahead and whacks the back of Bokuto’s head with a hard slap.

”Asshole.” She mutters.

“Fuck, that hurt.” The ace whines. “What’d I say wrong? I think all girls are pretty. What’s weight gotta do with anything?”

And Yukie pauses, mulling over the ace’s words for a moment, before apparently finding them acceptable. She nods to herself.

“Crazy woman, always out to get Bokuto,” Bokuto murmurs to himself. He side eyes Yukie warily before slowly inching away, and once he deems it safe, he asks, clearly forgetting (or perhaps just conveniently ignoring) his prior promise to dedicate the day to exam preparation. “Bro, I bet we can get Akaashi and Kenma to come too. Think about how much fun-“ 

“Absolutely not.”

Uh-oh.

Kuroo knows a pissed off Akaashi when he sees one. The younger boy is dangerous, lulling you into a deceived happiness before attacking you like a viper. Unfortunately, it appears that Bokuto hasn't discovered that that, so Kuroo just waits for the first blow.

"Aren't you supposed to be studying for your midterms? You failed your math one last time,” the gorgeous setter hits.

"Kaashi," Bokuto whines, hair drooping slightly, "You promised you wouldn't tell anybody.” 

"And you promised to study," Akaashi strikes back just as quick.

 _Viper_ , Kuroo thinks.

"I will, I will Akaashi," the silver-haired pleads, but then he steals a glance at Kuroo and is suddenly reminded of the endless possibilities of trouble that await them. His fingers itch at the idea. “Later.” _  
_

_Weakness #8: Bokuto’s bad ideas grow tenfold with Kuroo’s presence._

Akaashi narrows his eyes.

Here comes the final blow. _Ah, Heavenly Father, please allow my fellow brother a safe and easy journey into the afterlife. May he always be provided for-_

"Fine then Bokuto-san," Akaashi states, "I won't be tossing to you until you study,".

That leaves Bokuto scrambling, "Okay, okay Akaashi! I'll study tonight! Please, just keep tossing.”

 _Rip._ Kuroo whispers another silent prayer for his fallen comrade before discreetly sliding out of his seat and towards the door. He so does not want to be there when Akaashi turns on him. It’s only a matter of time at this point really, and surrendering himself to spend one of their few free afternoons studying sounds about as fun as getting his dick chopped off. Besides, his afternoon is already booked, and he’s currently debating just how to narrow down his plans of a) jacking off, b) reading his favorite manga, or c) jacking off again. So yes, he actually is extremely busy, which justifies why he’s slinking away like a feline in the shadows, trying to escape Akaashi’s sharp gaze.

“And Kuroo-san,” Akaashi chimes. “One of Bokuto’s exams is for chemistry. Since I myself am not as proficient in second year sciences, I hope you will be able to help. In exchange, perhaps Bokuto can offer some assistance in physics. Kenma mentioned you were struggling in the course. Doesn’t that sound like a good idea, Bokuto-san?” 

Bokuto slowly creeps his head around, giant, golden eyes already pleading for forgiveness as he croaks out. “Totally, Akaashi.”   
  
Kuroo narrows his eyes. _Traitor._ But Akaashi is terrifying in general, so he can’t blame Bokuto too much either. Instead, he just groans and trudges back to his seat, accepting his pathetic fate of slaving over fucking acceleration and oxidation problems.   
  
Kuroo, mouth ticked in annoyance, steals a glance at his best friend. “You know, you really are a masochist.” He grumbles, disgusted. 

“Yeah?” 

Kuroo nods. 

“Better than watching tentacle porn though.” 

Kuroo hisses in defense. “One time. It was one time, you-“

Across from them, Akaashi raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“This doesn’t sound like chemistry to me.” He says simply, and they both shut up. 

****

Bokuto is a lot of things- a totally impressive volleyball player (Akaashi’s exact words), a cool senpai, a number one ace. In general, he is the epitome of awesomeness, which is great on the majority of days when his confidence runs sky-high and he thinks he can storm the world. 

Some days, though, he feels the furthest thing from amazing. 

It’s been several days since the incident with their third-year setter, and Bokuto is not one to dwell on negatives. 

_The Way of an Ace: Rule #1- Your back should be an inspiration to your team mates._

He tries. He really does try his best because his team needs him, and he refuses to let them down. 

_But he did._

Reflecting back, not being tossed to doesn’t seem like such a big deal. Akaashi will always offer the best sets to him, ones high and close to the net just the way he likes it, but now it’s more so what transpired after that that drags him down. The guilt gnaws at him, something he’s not even though he so desperately tries: _dependable_.

What’s it like to be a dependable ace?

He feels like a burden to his team, especially his setter who’s forced to deal with his wild mood swings and reckless behavior, and he knows like an innate truth that Akaashi, the first-year setter who challenges Oikawa Toruu for all he’s worth, deserves better than this, better than him- an unreliable ace, chosen by the luck of the draw. 

***** 

Later that night, Akaashi is staring at the ceiling, eyes growing dizzy at each spin of the wooden fan.

_14\. 15._

“Akaashi.” 

_16\. 17._ He watches as a lump under the cover- probably Konoha- throws a pillow at Bokuto to shut up.

Bokuto expertly dodges it. “Akaashiii.” This time this voice is louder, more along a shout than a casual call.   
  
_Weakness # 9: Bokuto does not know when to use an indoor voice. This is especially apparent at night time and on bus rides._

The setter sighs, sends one last glance at the fan before shifting to his side where he already knows what will greet him. 

“Yes, Bokuto-san?” 

There’s barely enough moonlight filtering through the single window for Akaashi to trace his surroundings, and his eyes fall onto the nearly six-foot man with bright eyes and a wide grin too big for his face. Bokuto clutches a plastic bag in his hand like an eager child, brimming with anticipation. 

The ace sequels in delight, practically skipping over to the green-eyed setter, until he’s towering right above him, and Akaashi thinks if he didn’t know beneath that wall of solid muscle and towering stance was a goofy, excitable boy, he would be screaming bloody murder.

“I got you something!” Bokuto whispers, the loudness bordering more of a shout than a hushed voice. He’s rocking back and forth on his toes, happiness almost plausible, and it does something funny to Akaashi’s chest to see Bokuto so content. 

Before Akaashi can reply, however, there’s a rustle as the covers are drawn back angrily to reveal Konoha’s glaring eyes and cowlicked hair. “Bokuto,” he hissed out. “It’s three in the morning. Please shut the fuck up.” 

And then the wing spiker is tugging the blankets over his head, mumbling bitterly under his breath about stupid love and stupid setter/spiker relationships.

Bokuto blinks. “Oops.” He says genuinely, and the go-easy smile Bokuto sported is replaced with a small frown that mirrors Akaashi’s own.“Do you think I was too loud?” 

Akaashi risks a glance at Konoha, tufts of blonde hair and a sole bare foot peeking out from the too-tiny blanket, and comes to a decision when he shakes his head no, finding himself wanting to see Bokuto’s smile again. He hopes Konoha won’t mind. Immediately, Bokuto brightens with a shining grin, and Akaashi’s pretty sure Konoha actually fucking hisses like some reptile. He sends a mental apology to Konoha. Some sacrifices had to be made though.

“Cool,” Bokuto grins, breaking the setter’s train of thought. “Oh! Lemme show you, ‘Kaashi!”

Bokuto bends down next to Akaashi, a bit too close, but then again Bokuto has never really had a sense of personal space, and Akaashi scrambles up to lean back on his elbows, trying to put some distance between them because he’s not sure if he wants Bokuto smelling his almost morning breath. It’s strange. Akaashi’s never been one to feel insecure about such things, but around Bokuto, it’s like every detail and thought become magnified- like how Bokuto actually has a tiny scar on the side of his forehead (from riding his bike off a hill with Kuroo when he was 9) or the way Bokuto actually has a single dimple in his left cheek that should not be as adorable as it is.

It’s only when Bokuto glances up as he insists “‘Kaashi, close your eyes! It’s a surprise.”, and Akaashi realizes that the ace’s voice has grown tenfold in volume because they’re only a few inches apart. 

He blinks, covering his eyes with his hands, as he replies. “Bokuto-san, please move back a little. We are inappropriately close.” 

“Oh. Sorry Kaashi!”

There’s a pause, and then a slight shuffle as Bokuto moves back, and Akaashi releases a sigh of relief. 

Bokuto’s voice is pure, unbridled excitement. “Hold out your hand.”

So, Akaashi offers his right hand, fingers open and exposed to the chilly breeze of March. They’re empty, and then, ever so gently, Akaashi feels an object weighing his hand down, a gift from Bokuto as their fingers accidentally brush past each other. He wraps his fingers around. It’s light, cool with some colder metal, and feels like plastic, and when he open his eyes, he’s surprised to find himself staring at a pacman keychain- Blinky, to be precise, the tiny, little red ghost from the video game. 

Bokuto peers at him nervously. Akaashi is usually impassive, difficult to read unless you’ve spent a lot of time with him (which Bokuto has) and notice the almost invisible changes in his expression (which Bokuto is still learning to read). “So...” he drawls out, scanning the younger boy’s face, palms sweaty in nervousness if Akaashi would actually like it. He suddenly feels very stupid. “What’d ya think?”  
  
A laugh bubbles deep inside Akaashi’s chest, the one that barely happens, much less is let out, but then he’s erupting into laughter, a wonderful twinkling of pure happiness and warmth, and he’s not sure why. It’s just a toy, the cheap, plastic kind his three-year old cousin begs him to buy whenever Akaashi visits Osaka, but it’s from Bokuto, and somehow that changes everything. 

He lets his eyes settle on Bokuto and offers him a rare smile. “I love it. Thank you, Bokuto-san.” 

Akaashi’s voice is soft and gentle, and Bokuto likes the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, so Bokuto just stares at him for a while before he realizes Akaashi is actually waiting for him to say something back. 

“Uh...” Bokuto scratches the back of his head, desperately trying to remember what exactly they had been talking about, but thankfully he’s saved when a voice behind them asks. 

“So, Bokuto,” Konoha begins. “Where’s my present?” 

“Um, I didn’t get you one?” Bokuto answers, unsure, and Konoha deadpans him. “Oh! But look at what else I got!” 

He proudly holds out the plastic box in his hand, and both Konoha and Akaashi peer over it before exchanging confused glances. 

“Bokuto-san, what is that?” 

The ace looks scandalized. “It’s a fart cushion.” He huffs, slightly annoyed no one else can see the brilliance behind it. “Kuroo and I got matching ones.” 

Akaashi and Konoha answer at the same time.   
  
“Very cool, Bokuto-san.” 

“This team is so fucked up.”   
  


****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! Thanks for reading!! I’m so sorry I’m super behind in responding to all of your comments, but I promise I deadass read them all the time bc they make me so happy💖💖💖 
> 
> Also, here’s a link to my tumble in case you guys wanted to talk!! :)) https://bokuaka-4510.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I’m screaming because I’m finally at the halfway point!! Ngl, after writing this, I was so into the fluff rip, but thank you so much for reading this!! :)))
> 
> Also, just discovered that Akaashi's stats are only 1 point lower than Oikawa's, despite Akaashi also being a year younger. idk!! i never realized how talented mans is.

They lose nationals. 

It’s an explosion of bitterness on Akaashi’s tongue before the metallic tang of blood accompanies it. He can’t tear his eyes away from the scoreboard overhead, flashing neon yellow lights that read 20-25. 

Bokuto is blinking, body now off the court and hunched over on the bench as Coach Yamji rubs his back in consolation, reassuring words falling on deaf ears because Akaashi can see the way Bokuto’s head hangs low in shame and guilt.   
  
He reasons technically. Akaashi had no reason to justify this anger that burns in him. Their third year setter had been called in as a substitute during the last ten minutes of the game when the match was locked in a static tug of war, both sides only able to stand erect due to the dream of being able to claim that title of best in the nation. A change in pace, the commenters had called it, but watching the former setter toss only to the third years, not to the second years or Bokuto, Bokuto whose one-in-a-billion, starts this hot, scalding feeling inside his chest that takes Akaashi by surprise, especially when the buzzer rings five minutes later after a deadly cross-shot from the opposing wing spiker. 

His team deserves to be tossed to. Akaashi drops his eyes in shame when he remembers it’s his job to toss to them. He can be however angry he wants at Marasuno, but if he had been more skilled, perhaps this outcome could’ve been avoided. If he were the better setter, maybe he could allow himself to dream of finally being deserving of his team and Bokuto. 

( _The first blossom blooms red. The doors of the end begin to open. His fall has begun.)_  
  
The walk back to the locker room is silent, each of them lost in the painful haze of letting dreams go, until a peal of laughter suddenly interrupts the quiet. His eyes dart to their source- the brown-haired third year setter, grinning at something their captain said. They look... light. Carefree. Happy, like they hadn’t just lost Nationals. 

The biting words flutter at the tip of his tongue, and Akaashi presses them down, reminding himself how rude it would be to free them. It’s not until they’re in the locker room, and Akaashi is shrugging off his shirt when he feels a heavy gaze staring at his naked torso. 

“That was fun, huh Akaashi-kun?” The third year setter asks, suddenly standing next to him.

Akaashi hurriedly pulls over a soft black sweatshirt, the word Fukurodani engraved onto the front. 

“I suppose so.” He answers. 

The older boy hesitates. “Yeah, so listen, now that this is over, I was thinking maybe you wanted to grab dinner together after this?” 

Akaashi scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Isn’t the team already going?” 

“Ah.” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I meant just us. Alone.” 

He has to blink a few times before the implication registers in his head. “I apologize Marasuno-san.” Akaashi bows his head and turns to leave. He’s already finished changing, and his stomach silently grumbles with pangs of hunger. “I appreciate your offer, but I’m afraid I can’t accept.” 

Akaashi’s taken a single step a to the locker room door when suddenly a hand reaches out and grips his forearm tightly. He stares at the point of contact, thin, long fingers- though shorter than his own- dig into the tan skin, and red indentions take bloom.

”Wait,” the older setter stumbles over his words. “What do you mean “no”? I asked you out, didn’t I?”

Akaashi blinks. “Yes,” he explains. “I believe I declined, however.” 

“Why? I’ve liked you for so long.” The older setter clenches his fist before laughing. “Is it because of Bokuto? C’mon, he’s practically useless-“

Maybe it’s because Akaashi’s tired. Or maybe it’s because the harsh lies about Bokuto make his head dizzy with red, but the words fly free, the ones dancing on his tongue since training camp.

”Not as useless as a setter who can’t toss.” 

He's not sure which setter he's talking about, himself or the older one. Silence fills the entire room for a few seconds, and under the weighted gazes of the rest of the team, he wants to retreat back in his shell as shame crashes into him in giant waves, but... 

_His team deserves better._

He chants this in his head like a mantra as he steels his nerves and meets the older boy’s shocked gaze.   
_  
I want them to win._

“Hey, now.” The captain scurries towards the commotion and consoles, nervously glancing between the two. “Akaashi, no need to say that. Marasuno was-“ 

“Not tossing to Bokuto, right?” He seethes out. He remembers the excitement buzzing in his veins, thinking this is what hooked Bokuto onto the game, and he could understand it because they could taste the victory on their tongue. So close. “Not tossing to the rest of my team? Maybe if you had, we could’ve been playing another game.” 

“By god,” the third year setter slaps a hand on his face. “It’s just a fucking game. There’s no need to get worked up...” Marasuno glances at Akaashi and then a humorless smirk curves his lips. “Especially for a first year setter whose really not all that.” 

“Ah.” Akaashi slings his bag over his shoulder. He’s many things, but a setter who won’t try isn’t one of them. “I assume it must be embarrassing then to have that first year setter steal your starting spot then. My condolences.”   
  
He can hear Konoha burst out into laughter behind him as Akaashi heads out the door, and if there was a small smile on his face as he left ... well, that wouldn’t be complete untrue.

*****

He’s a few steps from the locker room when a familiar voice frantically calls out. 

“Akaashi!” 

Snapping his head around, Akaashi is met with a panting Konoha, gasping for breath as his hands rest on his knees.

Eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Konoha-san,” he says with a frown. “What are you doing here?” 

“You’re going to the vending machine right?” And Akaashi nods. “I wanted to grab something too. Pocky sounds so good right now.”

“Of course. You are welcome to join me if you please, Konoha-san.”  
  
They walk in a comfortable silence, dodging past rushing teams late to their match and glancing away at teams that had lost theirs. It was too familiar. A few players even come up to Akaashi, introducing themselves and gushing over just how _good_ he is, how come they’ve never heard of him before, if they could grab his number so they could practice together sometime. It leaves Konoha completely stumped on how someone could be so smart, yet so incredibly oblivious to the snap of heads, awed whispers, and lingering gazes that follow in the setter’s wake. _  
_

Yeah, he thinks. Akaashi is definitely a weird one.

”So,” he drawls out casually, folding his arms behind his head. “I saw what you did in the locker room with Marasuno.” 

Konoha had longed stop adding any honorifics to the boy’s name, and, in all honesty, the third year setter deserved it. Konoha’s hated the boy for as long as he can remember, and sometimes when Marasuno has his back turned, Konoha envisions squishing him, squinting through his fingers and crushing him like an ant. It turns him on more than it should.

“He’s sort of a dick.” Akaashi replies casually, as if they were discussing the weather, and Konoha’s brain halts to a pause, stuttering to comprehend the fact that Akaashi, so prim and proper, had cussed. 

“Did you just call someone a dick?” Konoha asks incredously, mouth gaping. “How- when-I-“ 

Akaashi rolls his eyes. “Our vice-captain has a mouth that could make the devil roll over in his grave. Are you really so surprised?” 

Konoha muses Akaashi’s words. He did have a valid point. Konoha’s never heard anyone curse the way Bokuto does, except for maybe Kuroo. Involuntarily, he shivers. Now that was a scary duo.

”Fair enough,” he concedes. “But I didn’t know you felt that strongly about him.” 

“Oh.” The setter pauses. “My apologies. I assume you must have thought my actions rude-“ 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Konoha interrupts, and he holds out a hand to stop Akaashi’s sentence. “I didn’t think it was rude at all. In fact-“ he smirks “I thought it was pretty badass.”

Akaashi stills for a moment, and then he peaks up at Konoha. “You think so?” 

The blond whistles. “Dude, are you kidding? I fucking hate that man.” 

Then, Akaashi mumbles it so quietly, Konoha could’ve missed it if he breathe.

”Me too.” 

Holy shit. No way, Akaashi Keiji admitted to _hating_ someone. Bonus points for it being the same person Konoha despises with every fiber of his being. 

“Dude, no way.” He gapes in way before grinning. “Akaashi Keiji actually hates someone? I guess we’ve corrupted you more than we thought.” 

But, then the Akaashi he is so familiar with returns, and tells Konoha to, politely of course, shut up. Konoha’s not letting this go though, and they spend the rest of the walk complaining about the third year setter, how pretentious he was, how he never tossed to Bokuto, how he was, in general, a piece of shit. When he reveals his violent, vengeful fantasy, Akaashi just nods. 

“I would like to try that sometime too.” The setter reveals, and Konoha’s mouth drops further in surprise. 

He slings an arm across his kouhai, smirking evilly because he’s corrupted this boy so beautifully he deserves a pat on the back. “Akaashi, you know what?” Konoha declares proudly. “You’re actually pretty cool.” 

“Somehow those words don’t hold much value coming from you Konoha-san.” 

“Fuck you.” 

They finally reach the vending machine, a large looming black box in the corner of the stadium. It’s a popular place for obvious reasons, and athletes mill around, most looking completely dead on their feet. Konoha orders the strawberry Pocky he’s been dreaming about since he woke up, those heavenly tiny crackers coated in strawberry frosting. He nearly drools from the thought. Akaashi orders a packet of ramune because apparently the setter has a big sweetheart tooth, and as the bag crinkles open, the sweet scent of sugar and fruits surrounding them, Konoha can’t help but side eye the food. Akaashi must notice because the setter sends Konoha a deathly glare that could probably even send the devil cowering. No one gets in between Akaashi and his food, so Konoha is a bit surprised when Akaashi commands him to hold out his hand and drops something into it. Trembling, Konoha slowly uncurls the wrapper, eagerly anticipating...

It’s grape. The most disgusting flavor known to mankind.   
  
Still, he can’t afford to be picky, so he pops the candy into his mouth, wincing as the sickly sweet flavor explodes throughout his tongue. 

“You’re evil, y’know that?” Konoha grumbles to Akaashi with his mouth full. 

“I do recall you saying you corrupted me. I am simply a product of your teachings.” Akaashi retorts, perfect as ever. The bag is nearly half gone, most of the remaining ones blue Hawaiian. “You should be proud, Konoha-san.” 

“Shut up. At least give me the blue ones if you’re not going to eat them. Those are the best.” He says, huffing in annoyance.

Akaashi glances down in surprise, unconsciously leaving the blue ones since they’re Bokuto’s favorite ones, and whenever the two are trudging back home after a quick stop at the convenience store, Akaashi fishes out the blue Hawaiian candies into Bokuto’s eager hands because they are the only flavor he likes. 

It jolts him, how even the tiniest of things in his life remind him of Bokuto, because now he’s wondering where Bokuto is. The ace hadn’t shown up in the locker room, and although Bokuto’s rising popularity guaranteed him more and more interviews each game, none had ever been this long. 

“Akaashi?” Konoha’s voice breaks his train of thoughts. “Did you hear what I said?”

Akaashi racks his brain, but he places his bets that it was something Yukie or food-related. “Not really.” He admits, and Konoha sighs. “I think I may have forgotten something. Please excuse me, Konoha-san.”

He shoves the snack into his pockets and wanders through out the stadium, searching every room and corner he stumbles upon with no avail. His texts also don’t go through, a series of messages that go unanswered on his screen, and he realizes Bokuto must not have a phone either. Akaashi’s just about to give up and begin yelling the ace’s name when he notices a pair of old, dirty sneakers peaking out from under a dusty table near the basement of the stadium.

”Bokuto-san?” He calls out hesitantly, shuffling closer.

There’s no response, but Akaashi crouches down until he’s eye level with Bokuto, golden eyes peering back at him like a scared child. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi.” 

Bokuto looks so small, curled up into a ball with his hands wrapped around his knees and eyes hesitantly peeking out. Something tugs in Akaashi’s chest, and he swallows before asking. “Room for one more?” 

Bokuto studies him for a careful minute, wavering back and forth if he should let Akaashi in. It terrifies him that one day Akaashi will see how weak he really is, the furthest thing from an ace, a lie of a title earned through luck, and realize Bokuto is not all that great because volleyball is all the ace has. He doesn’t want Akaashi to go.

_If you see me, please don’t leave me._

Akaashi is still looking at him, waiting for his answer with all the patience in the world, not pushing, but simply reminding the ace that he doesn’t have to be alone anymore. Ocean eyes so soft, not the raging sea that drowns heroes, but rather the gentle, foaming waves that births gods, and Bokuto remembers who Akaashi is to him, so much more than a setter. Nodding mutely, Bokuto shifts to the left and makes himself even smaller, tucking his head into his knees, so there’s more room for Akaashi. Akaashi bends down and crawls into the little den Bokuto has found, well aware of of how these tiny spaces comfort Bokuto.

“Are you okay?” Akaashi questions glancing at him. Bokuto can feel the soft rise and fall of Akaashi’s body next to him. Akaashi smells like salonpas, deodorant, and pine after a heavy rain, and the scents make Bokuto’s head spin. 

Bokuto hesitates. He could just say yes and try playing it off perhaps, but Akaashi reads him like a book.

"He didn't want to toss to me."

"I know."

They’re both silent for a moment, drinking in the harsh truth before Bokuto confesses. “He knew I couldn’t score anyways. Any setter would’ve made that decision.” 

Time halts to a still, and Akaashi wants to scream at him. 

"No," Akaashi’s eyes glint like steel, as unyielding as his promise. “Not me." 

Some of the fear drains out of Bokuto’s eyes, the sun hesitantly peeks through, and Akaashi’s chest lightens. 

“Thank you 'Kaashi.” Bokuto murmurs softly, though his head still hangs low in shame.

Akaashi almost asks him _for what?_ And as if reading his mind, Bokuto answers. 

“You're always nice ... it means a lot to me. “ The ace manages a weak grin, lips shaking as they pull up into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s holding back a dam, trying to stay afloat these waves of guilt and reckless thoughts that constantly wash over him. _All his fault._ He begins to crack. “I’m-“ a deep breath to push down the lump in his throat- “sorry for letting you guys down. Please don’t get mad at me. I promise I’ll be better.”

In the dark corner, Bokuto blinks back tears, hot and burning against his eyes, as he tries to take deep breaths because he’s so close to breaking. _He let them down. He let them down. He let them down. He let-_

A warm hand envelopes his own. Keiji’s hands are rougher than he expected, the ridges of scabbed skin and harsh callouses brush against his knuckles, but to Bokuto, they’re perfect, capable of sending the most flawless sets and so real that it grounds Bokuto in a way only Akaashi can. He only hesitates for a second before surrendering himself to their warmth, fascinated by the way they completely engulf his own hands in length, but not width. His heart begins to slow into its familiar rhythm. 

_Ba-bump. Ba-bump._

It feels like home. 

He glances up to meet warm ocean eyes, forever welcoming the sun, whether rising or setting.

_You'll always find a home in me._

"Why are you apologizing, Bokuto-san?" Akaashi murmurs softly. "You played wonderfully today." 

Bokuto blinks, peeking his head up a bit because Akaashi does not offer praise so easily. It’s hard fought for, a rare treasure of the best kind, and Bokuto can count the number of times Akaashi's complimented him on one hand. 

"But I made us lose." Bokuto protests. 

_Weakness #9: Bokuto refuses to let anyone else carry the burden of blame._

"We did lose." Akaashi admits, and perhaps, even back then, Akaashi was well aware that their paths would not be intertwined forever. A high road to the heavens does not cross a well-travelled one. "But it wasn’t your fault because there’s six of us on the court, not one. Besides, there's next year. And for _you,_ there's the year after that, and the year after that one, and every year after that."

Bokuto breathes, Akaashi's words ringing in his ears because there's no way Bokuto heard Akaashi's implications correctly.

"Akaashi-"

"Bokuto-san, what are your dreams?"

"What?"

"That night." Akaashi says impatiently. "When we were on the bus after we won our first game. What did you dream of ?"

Bokuto hesitates. "I want to keep doing this. " The words drip out hesitantly at first, like saying them aloud would make them untrue, a small ray of hope unfurling itself in the darkest corner of himself, blooming wonderfully despite no light, finally enough to be welcomed into the world between them. " I want to always be on the court. I want to win, on this stage, on the next stage, on the national stage where everyone is watching me. I want to be the ace of Japan, want to play for Japan, play at the Olympics. I wanna go pro, ‘Kaashi."

It's such a titanic dream, towering over him all these months, what he wants clashing against reality, but here, next to Keiji, everything feels so possible, only a breath away from his fingertips. 

Bokuto asks, breath shaking. “Is it too much?”

Keiji tilts his head up, allowing green to meet golden, and Bokuto think the sea has never looked so beautiful, as if it were simply waiting for its old companion to rise again with the utmost conviction.

"All your dreams, Bokuto-san?" Akaashi grins. Bokuto's heart stutters. "Have some faith in me. I'll open up the path for you.” 

_Even if it takes you away._

_****_

[Adventure of a lifetime - Coldplay ](https://open.spotify.com/track/69uxyAqqPIsUyTO8txoP2M?si=BYPcZ_OaRheIOm-TmQZDZA)

They spend the next few months leading up to summer ruthlessly practicing. Mornings, nights, weekends, basically whatever semblance of free time the two might have is dedicated to soft grazes of leather and powerful spikes that echo in the expanse of the gym, and it’s only possible because of their new positions as Akaashi tugs on his white Fukurodani jacket, the words _vice-captain_ embroidered in small, golden cursive on his chest. 

It took him by surprise, mouth popping into an “o”, eyes widening, blinking furiously when he reminds Bokuto, “Bokuto-san, next season is approaching. You need to decide your vice-captain.” 

“Akaashi-“ 

But Akaashi continues because he’s been on Bokuto’s case for the last few months, with the ace promising vehemently he’ll figure it out only to come up stuttering the next time Akaashi asked. “I think Konoha-san would be a great vice-captain-“

”Akaashi...”

“-He does possess adequacy in every aspect, an all-around comprehensive player. Of course, there’s also Washio-“

“Akaashi, I already decided.” Bokuto breathes heavily, sighing in relief as he can finally tell Akaashi.

The setter blinks, pleasantly surprised. Perhaps he shouldn’t have chastised Bokuto so much. “That’s wonderful, Bokuto-san. Who did you select?

“It’s you.”

It’s utter silence.

”I want you to to be my vice-captain.”

Akaashi shakes his head, mouth opening and closing because it just didn’t make any sense, and then when Bokuto repeats the words again, his head spins. There are a million questions racing through his brain, each one more urgent than the last, but all he manages to strangle out is.

“Are you actually insane?” 

Bokuto pouts, clearly not expecting this reaction. “‘Kaashiii.” 

Akaashi presses on. “Why, Bokuto-san?”

“Why not?” Bokuto strikes back, smirking at what he must’ve thought was a smart retort, and Akaashi resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Listen, ‘Kaashi. You’re one of the best setters on the prefecture already, and your tosses are the absolute best. So yeah.” Bokuto snorts. “It was no competition.” 

“But-how,” he stammers, still trying to wrap his mind around this insane, reckless decision Bokuto made. “Bokuto-san, please reconsider. K-Konoha or Washio have more experience. It’s not too late. I can talk to them for you. It-“ 

“Nope.” Bokuto’s verdict is loud and clear, full of confidence and absolute conviction. 

_Weakness #10: Bokuto is infuriatingly stubborn._

“We already decided, all of us, and we voted you as captain. It was unanimous, in case you were wondering.” Bokuto continues, and he conveniently forgets to mention how he had already decided Akaashi would be his vice-captain way back in February. When he had brought up the idea with Coach Yamji, the older man just nods his head vigorously, as if there had never been anyone else to consider for the position, and Bokuto agrees.

“I was not wondering, actually Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says drily. “Still, are you positive you want this?” 

“Well, do _you_ want this Akaashi?” Bokuto glances at him, golden eyes glimmering. 

Does he want this? 

Akaashi thinks about late practices, and sore muscles, and Konoha and Sarukui’s antics, and convenience store ramen, and Washio’s stoic ness, and golden eyes, the ones still looking at him even though he has a feeling they already know the answer. 

“Yes,” he breathes. The thought tickles his chest, but in the good way. “I do.” 

Then, Bokuto is tackling him with a hug, some strange, but oddly pleasant scent of salonpas, firewood, and dark spice enveloping him. It’s familiar, of course it would be when he spent nearly every passing second surrounded by it. Bokuto’s arms wrap around his waist, strong, sturdy, warm- the result of long days and longer nights of practice, perfecting spikes, lifting weights, running before dawn- and Akaashi’s breath catches in his throat. He barely dares to breathe, to move and touch Bokuto, skin brushing against skin. But he’s a hopeless case, fighting a losing a war, and the next moment, he relaxes, hesitantly allowing his fingers to travel up Bokuto’s broad back, past his shoulder blades, until they rest on the small of the ace’s neck. 

When they break apart, Bokuto pulls away, a soft, crazy smile on his face and eyes bright. Akaashi’s cheeks burn. 

“Well, here’s to the best vice-captain ever.” Bokuto announces, well aware of his former position, but really how can he compare to Akaashi, and that’s alright because Akaashi is absolutely brilliant in everything he does. So, what if Bokuto loses? As long as it’s to Akaashi, he still feels like he’s won. 

Akaashi just smiles at him, hazy rays of the sunset surrounding him like a halo.

Bokuto thinks he’s the luckiest man alive. 

Of course, nothing much changes after that. Bokuto still wakes up every morning at dawn for a quick jog, and sometimes, he’s even able to drag Akaashi out of bed, ego only slightly bruised from a grumpy, half-asleep setter. The days, harsh, spring sun glaring above, are spent inside the cool air-conditioned convenience store where Bokuto covertly watches volleyball games underneath the counter (the Jackals lose to the Alders in the 2016 championship game), but his favorite part of all are nights when it’s just him and Akaashi practicing volleyball in the old gym, the only sounds of summer crickets, ricocheting volleyballs, and their voices. It’s a summer haze to Bokuto, repeating these rewinding memories he loves so much. 

And then the letter comes. 

_Hello Bokuto Koutorou,_

_Congratulations. We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen for this year’s All-Japan Youth Intensive Training Camp hosted by the Japan Volleyball Association based on your national rankings. If you so choose to accept, the training dates will range from July 20th - August 10th. We hope-_

He doesn’t finish the letter because he’s fucking screaming, heart thumping in his chest, eyes scanning the paper over and over again, absolutely incredulous because he’s finally, finally become a top wing-spiker, and suddenly the dreams of going pro don’t seem mountains away when he’s already scaling them. His mother rushes in, clearly concerned about the commotion, and Bokuto stumbles over his words to tell her. 

_“_ They-I-I’m going to the All-Japan camp,” he announces. The realization washes over him, and he breathes out in awe. “I’m a top five ace.”

He repeats the same words over and over, of course with not as much stuttering, but still it never gets old. When Kuroo finds out (Bokuto swears his mother is the biggest gossiper ever), the raven-haired drives over, and they celebrate with a trip to Bokuto’s favorite yakiniku restaurant. It’s late by the time Bokuto returns back home, kicking off his shoes at the doorway and crumpling into bed. He stares at the cracked ceiling for a second before pulling out his phone, debating if he should call or text Akaashi. 

He waits as the phone rings, ears longing to be met with that familiar voice. Akaashi picks up on the third dial. 

“Hello, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi’s voice is still a low timber, slightly static. 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto screams into the phone. “You’ll never guess what? I’m going to All-Japan!”

The line is silent for a minute, Bokuto thinks maybe Akaashi hung up, but then there’s a frantic scrambling of papers and chairs. 

“You what?” Akaashi asks, breathless. The setter tugs the phone closer to his ear, just to make sure he hears right. 

Bokuto repeats the statement, loving it this time more than before because Akaashi screams into the phone, and Bokuto nearly drops it in shock, but then Akaashi’s chanting congratulations, congratulations, congratulations like a mantra. His chest expands at the praise. 

“So, when do you leave?” 

And the question knocks the air out of Bokuto’s lungs. Fuck, he hadn’t thought about that, being gone for an entire summer when all his plans consisted of him and Akaashi and volleyball.

“I leave on July 20th.” He answers. “And I’ll be back the night before school.” 

Akaashi smiles, genuine and bright, though Bokuto can’t see. “Good.” He says, leaning back into his chair. “Don’t be late for your flight.” 

“Better late than never, right?” Bokuto retorts, and it’s sort of a running joke between them from the first few days of when they met. 

Akaashi hums through the phone, a soft, happy sound, full of content. 

“Bokuto-san?” The setter calls out. 

“Yeah?”

”I’m very proud of you.”   
  
Bokuto thinks he can fly with those words. 

*****  
  
Akaashi and the rest of the team insist on dropping Bokuto at the airport, stopping for a brief lunch and threatening him for daily pictures of all the other stars because _you get to see Ushijima and Sasuka?_ It’s July 18th, the day as beautiful as any imagination could concoct: cerulean blue skies, scorching sun, freshly blooming akaichurippus and suirens that saturate the air with floral fragrances and honey.   
  
This time, when Bokuto hugs Akaashi, it’s more familiar, the strength of arms, the smell of salonpas and dark spice from Bokuto’s favorite body wash. Akaashi thought the novelty of the first time could explain his strange reaction from before, the stuttering heart, tumbling stomach, but he’s wrong because it’s the second time Bokuto hugs him, and all of it comes back full force, even stronger. In their closeness, he can hear Bokuto’s heartbeat, frantic and nervous, but still strong. Then, Konoha’s coughing besides them, and Akaashi pulls away with a start, clouds of red exploding on his cheeks. 

Bokuto just laughs, bidding one last final farewell to them, before rolling his suitcase and walking away. Akaashi stares at his disappearing figure, shoulders squared back, and he’s bit sad, that’s expected, but it’s overshadowed by the immense pride he feels watching Bokuto chase his dreams. Akaashi is his biggest supporter, even before Bokuto took the world by storm, the time before time, long before Bokuto Koutorou was the _Bokuto Koutorou._

“Are you gonna miss him?” Konoha settles in next to him, shoving his hands within his pockets as he locks onto Bokuto’s retreating back. 

“Of-course.” He answers without missing a beat. “The whole team will.” 

Konoha laughs. “No, no Akaashi. Won’t you miss him more?”   
  
And the question takes Akaashi by surprise because who is he to Bokuto that he deserves the right to miss him more than anyone else? Something settles in his stomach. “What are you implying Konoha-san?” 

The blond glances at him, brown eyes glittering with a knowledge of truth. “I think you like Bokuto. A lot more than friends, Akaashi.”

Akaashi doesn’t have an answer to that because it takes him by storm. _Does he like Bokuto?_ The question occupies his mind everyday, especially when Bokuto sends his daily string of texts about the most mundane things of his life ( _I found some owl keychains in the store! Did you know Miya can lick his elbow?_ ). It’s comforting, even though they’re distances apart, Bokuto still wants to talk to him.

It’s a week after Bokuto has left, and the day has surrendered to night, the lazy hum of summer crickets and a sticky humidity filling the air. Akaashi is hunched over his desk, frantically writing up a proposal for his literature internship when his phone lights up. Against his better judgement, he steals a glance at it.

_Bokuto [12:19 a.m.] : (1 image attached)_

It’s a picture of a bag of ramune candy, top pinched open and blue ones all gone, caption reading: _saving the rest for you（╹◡╹)._ Akaashi smiles at his phone, and then _shit._ It takes him a year to realize he may harbor feelings for his captain, just a tiny crush of course. It's not like he stares at him all throughout practice, silently thanking and cursing the universe when Bokuto's shorts ride up to reveal strong thighs wrapped in black (leggings or knee pads?), or the way Akaashi doodles Bokuto Keiji in the corners of his notebooks, or the way his laughs sends little flutters to Akaashi's heart that make him feel warm and happy and unstoppable. Right, he reminds himself, just attraction, and it’s totally normal to be attracted to your best friend, right? (Not. Akaashi knows attraction definitely doesn’t exactly fall under the characteristics of a platonic relationship). Konoha’s words ring in his ears.

_I think you like him._

With a groan, his head plops onto his desk, face red and heart thumping, a sense of upcoming annoyance bubbling in him because how the hell was he supposed to deal with this.

The realization crashes over him like a wave, until all he’s surrounded by is the truth, and it’s so clear, Akaashi wonders how he could’ve ever missed it in the first place.

Konoha was right- he does have feelings for Bokuto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the link for the flower meanings: https://en.compathy.net/magazine/2016/07/14/famous-flowers-in-japan/
> 
> some inspo by fantasy- bazzi
> 
> Hey guys, I think I’ll be taking a break to rewrite the story!!! Hopefully, I’ll be posting again in a month.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood bc BIDEN WON!!!😌😌😌 thank god that awful man is out of office
> 
> Anyways, I’m super excited to finish writing the next chapter bc it’s thirsty Bo aw（＾ν＾）i was sort of debating if i should post it tmrw, but i'm leaning more towards next week!!
> 
> I hope you guys like it!! Thanks for all your comments and support!! It means sm to me <333 
> 
> Also, hope y’all are staying safe and taking care of yourselves!!!

[Midnight City- M83](https://open.spotify.com/track/1eyzqe2QqGZUmfcPZtrIyt?si=2vPo3CJPR_eGO7FlPMDNzw)

  
The summer before his second year whizzes by in a blur, time greedily eaten up by summer classes, volleyball with the Nekoma players, and increasingly frequent hangouts with Konoha. Most days, Akaashi is up at eight and won’t stumble back home until well past dark, his au pair (he realizes it was a glorified term for a babysitter when he was 8) leaving dinner and a small note on the table whenever he returns. The fleeting minutes, rare catches of break while waiting in line when Konoha goes to get an ear pierced or walking back home with Kenma, are spent texting Bokuto back, the ace busy himself, but always eager to respond to his setter’s text with another three. Akaashi recalls a strange two week period where Bokuto had nearly ceased texting him, and he simply attributes it to a hectic schedule customary for a top athlete. Despite that, Akaashi’s a bit surprised that not much has changed between them, both with the distance and his newfound feelings, although that may be changing soon. 

He stares at his calendar, a giant red circle drawn in marker around _August 10th,_ a series of dashes of crossed out dates leading up to it.

_Bokuto comes home today._

It feel so surreal, the last two months passed in a nervous anticipation and a vain hope that perhaps these unwanted feelings for his best friend will somehow magically disappear. But they don’t. It’s as if they grow exponentially now that he can finally acknowledge them, which only makes it harder to hide. Still, Akaashi firmly believes in this normalcy. At best, his strange interest in his captain will slowly webb away. At worst, it’ll be a minor convenience.   
  
It’s a sudden buzz from his phone that breaks his thoughts, and reaching across the nightstand, he grabs it before sliding it unlocked. 

_Bokuto Koutorou (1:14 a.m.): Hey, hey, hey! Guess who’s finally back in Tokyo?_

Akaashi really does try his best to resist rolling his eyes. He’s sworn to himself that it’ll be one of his many self-improvement projects, but the road to success is paved with failure. 

_Akaashi Keiji (1:16 a.m.): Hello, Bokuto-san.  
_

_Bokuto Koutorou (1:16 a.m) : Hi Kaashii! (＾ν＾) What’s up?_

_Akaashi Keiji (1:17 a.m.): Finishing up some literature homework. I assume you’ve reached home safely?  
_

_Bokuto Koutorou (1:18 a.m.): Yeah!! I got home a few minutes ago, but I’m so fucking tired.  
_

_Akaashi Keiji (1:23 a.m): May I suggest sleeping?_

_Bokuto Koutorou (1:23 a.m.): I would... but Chi-Chi locked me out of the house.  
_

_Akaashi Keiji (1:23 a.m.): Again?_

_Bokuto Koutorou (1:24 a.m.): Yeah, I told her that her new boyfriend is ugly.  
_

_Akaashi Keiji (1:27 a.m.): Bokuto-san..._

_Bokuto Koutorou (1:28 a.m.): What?? Did I say something wrong?_

Keiji sighs through his nose as he scrolls through his list of contacts before reaching a familiar one.

_Akaashi Keiji (1:32 a.m.): Hello, Bokuto-san. I apologize for disturbing you, but would it be possible to let your brother in?  
_

_Bokuto Chiasa (1:33 a.m.): Keiji-kun!! I missed you so much. (๑･̑◡･̑๑) When are you coming over again?_

_(1:34 a.m.): Also, unfortunately for you, I can’t let Koutorou in. Do you know what he said?_

_Akaashi Keiji (1:35 a.m.): Yes, I believe so.  
_

_Bokuto Chiasa (1:35 a.m.): I couldn’t believe my ears! The audacity of this boy. He’s gone for 3 months, and suddenly he thinks he’s Kento Yamazaki (* an attractive Japanese actor). Hell to the no. Tell me. Do you think he’s ugly?  
_

_(1 image attached)_

Huh. Keiji tilts his head to the left. Bokuto was right. His older sister’s new boyfriend was quite unattractive. Honestly, Chiasa could do so much better, but Akaashi decides to postpone that talk for the future. Classes begin tomorrow, and he would rather very much not spend the day with a sleep-deprived Bokuto.

 _Akaashi Keiji (1:36 a.m.): Of course not, Bokuto-san._

The lie comes smoothly. 

_Bokuto Chiasa (1:36 a.m.): Thank you! That’s exactly what I was thinking too. Koutorou is such an idiot.  
_

_Akaashi Keiji (1:37 a.m.): Agreed. Good-night. Please reconsider allowing Bokuto-san inside now.  
_

He receives the text a few minutes later. 

_Bokuto Koutorou (1:39 a.m.): Agasheeee, you’re the best !!! (*^ω^*)_

****

Akaashi is waiting at the old oak tree a few streets down from his house, his bag saddled securely on his shoulder and left hand holding two soyjoy bars even though Bokuto absolutely despises them. They’re pretty high in nutrients and protein, and Bokuto always forgets to eat breakfast, so the senior will just have to make do he reasons as he taps his foot against the cracked concrete.

Bokuto’s tardiness is truly not surprising, and usually he would be mildly annoyed, but today, he’s thankful for the extra time to prepare himself. Akaashi begins to crack the fingers of his empty hand, body thrumming with anticipation and nervousness. It’s strange to know the reason behind his nerves now is a six-feet tall boy with wild hair and a penchant for Pac-man. 

“Agashee!” 

His breath catches in his throat. Three months is truly enough time to usher in unfathomable changes, and there’s so much to the ace that’s familiar, but all too different. Longer legs. Tanner skin. Did he somehow become even more toned at the camp? Akaashi thinks so because his too-small uniform fits more snug than before, a sight for sore eyes since Bokuto is nothing but thick muscles, hard planes, and bright smiles. There’s something else too, something different and new about Bokuto- this aura of grown confidence that radiates from him like light. Akaashi swallows heavily before forcing his gaze back up to somewhere more appropriate where deep-set golden eyes, the hue of a freshly rising sun, welcome him. 

“I missed you!” Bokuto shouts, and he leans in until the familiar scent of dark spice and firewood surrounds Akaashi. Akaashi’s heart hammers in his chest. He’s so sure Bokuto is going to inch in for a hug, but he catches the slight twinge of realization and then the guilt in golden eyes before Bokuto scrambles back like Akaashi is a stranger and instead offers an awkward pat on the shoulder. 

Akaashi tries to ignore the hurt. Of course, things would be awkward after months apart, but it’s nothing he can’t fix.

“Um, sorry for being late!” Bokuto rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, clearly trying to dissipate the awkward air. Something heavy settles in his stomach. “I couldn’t find the cornflakes box, but then Ai told me Chi-Chi ate it all last night.”

Akaashi goes along with it. He’s doesn’t want things to change between them like this. Bokuto is still his best friend, someone reliable, and kind, and brilliant. “No worries.” He replies, voice calmer than what he felt inside. “Better late than never, right?” 

Bokuto grins back in agreement, “Right!”

Akaashi sighs in relief. Everything will be okay if he just does his part correctly.

“Anyways, I hope your trip went well, Bokuto-san.” He says and hands Bokuto the breakfast bar despite the older boy’s loud protests. The familiarity of it all brings a small phantom of a smile to his face, one he’s quick to cover with his usual impassive expression. 

Bokuto munches on the soyjoy, managing to get bits of conversation in between bites and gagging. “Akaashi, it was so fucking cool!” - “The gym was so big and so new. We need to ask Coach for an upgrade.” 

“Bokuto-san, your idea of an upgrade is an Olympic gym.” He raises an eyebrow.   
  
Bokuto nods furiously. “Exactly ‘Kaashi. Listen, as vice-captain, it’s important that we’re on the same page. So, I’m thinking you go ask-“ 

“Oya?” 

Akaashi sighs. Bokuto whirls around. 

“Bro!” The ace screams, and he bolts to the raven head before tackling him in a hug. “I missed you!” 

“Ack, get off of me you idiot.” But Kuroo is laughing, so Akaashi knows he missed his best friend more than he would ever care to admit. “Yeah, I missed you too.”   
  
Bokuto pulls away, beaming, and Kuroo grabs his shoulders and gives the ace a very thorough run down, taking careful note of the extra inches and packed muscles. “Bro, you did not get more jacked at camp. What the hell?”

Kuroo falls in line with them as Bokuto blooms proudly under the praise, even flexing a bicep for show and challenging the Nekoma captain to an arm wrestling match. He listens to them argue and chatter about the strangest things, and it feels comfortable like hazy summer days and the leather touches of volleyball. Well, it does until Kuroo suddenly leans in and murmurs. 

“Hi Akaashi.” He grins that stupid Cheshire Cat smile. “I missed you too.” 

“Kuroo-san, I would prefer if you could maintain a distance of at least six feet from. Your proximity makes me uncomfortable.” 

And Kuroo barks out in laughter. “You’re funny, Akaashi.”

“Please stop talking to me.”

“Bro,” Kuroo begins, turning to his best friend. “Did you know Akaashi had a sense of humor?” 

Bokuto meets Akaashi’s eyes and offers him the most gentle smile, eyes crinkling as if Bokuto shared an inside joke only known to him. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Akaashi’s always making me laugh.” 

Akashi blinks. No matter how well he tries to predict Bokuto, the ace always surprises him. 

“Uh, okay?” Kuroo’s gaze flits between the two of them, confused at Bokuto’s words. Apparently, he gives up because the next second he asks. “Anyways, how was camp?”

Bokuto pulls away and brightens immediately. “Oh, it was so good! I was just telling ‘Kaashi about the gym- ceiling lights, polished floors-“ 

“He’s going to ask Coach Yamji for an Olympic-grade gym.” Akaashi cuts in. 

“Correction.” Bokuto says. “I’m going to make _you_ ask Coach Yamji. I think he’s still pissed at me from the hotel room incident.”

Akaashi tries to reason with him. “Bokuto-san, it’s not realistically possible.”

”Not with that kind of thinking, it’s not.”

And then Kuroo, pain-in-the-ass Kuroo, is adding fuel to flame when he agrees. “I love it, Bo. Don’t settle for less. You’re a top 5 ace now.” 

“Yeah,” Bokuto begins nodding. “ I guess I am pretty impressive when you mention it, huh Akaashi?” 

“Sure, Bokuto-san.” 

Kuroo slings an arm across Bokuto’s shoulders. “Ah, imagine how much cooler you’d be if you were a top 3 ace.” 

“I fucking hate you bro,” Bokuto grumbles and shrugs off Kuroo’s arm with an easy roll of his shoulders. “Why do you build me up to let me down?” 

Lips pulling into a devious smile, Kuroo replies. “Don’t mind. Besides, at least you got to go to the camp. I bet you saw a bunch of really awesome players.” 

Kuroo is practically gleaming, and even Akaashi’s interest in piqued now too. So many talented players, leagues above himself, just a figment of imagination. It makes his head spin, though not as much as watching Bokuto play. 

“I’m interested too.” Akaashi admits. “I think it’ll be good to assess them early on. If we make it to nationals, there’s a very likely probability we’ll have to face them.” 

Bokuto nods, face terse in agreement. “I see,” he muses. “Well, there’s Ushijima Wakatoshi...” 

“The top 3 ace?” Kuroo asks, and Bokuto sends him an exasperated look before nodding. The Nekoma senior whistles. “No fucking way. What was he like?” 

“Quiet. Intense. He’s big in general, but his spikes-“ Bokuto pauses. “Those are something else. Same with Sakusa Kiyoomi, but the reason he’s so dangerous is because of his adaptability. He’s got the most flexible wrist I’ve ever seen.” 

Sometimes, it takes Akaashi by surprise. Bokuto’s always been intelligent, but the suddenness at which Bokuto can switch into the coldly calculating captain, willing to tear down everything for victory, in a matter of seconds always gives him whiplash, but he supposes it’s a necessity to lead a national team.

“How about Hoshiumi Korai?” Akaashi asks.   
  
Bokuto blinks. “The freshman? Yeah, he’s good too, but the main things are his jumps. I think his vertical is like 351 cm.” 

Kuroo is next, rummaging through his bag until he finds a fairly recent issue of _Volleyball Monthly._ On the cover are two attractive men. Twins, Akaashi supposes, with the only distinguishable difference being the color of their hair, one ash gray and the other dark blonde not unlike Kenma’s. Underneath the picture writes the words “ _Volleyball’s Newest Deadly Duo: The Miya Twins.”  
_

“Did you see the twins?” Kuroo demands, leaning in. “I heard they’re practically in synch with each other. Yaku was telling me how he’s even watched games where Miya Osamu sets? What the hell, bro?”

Bokuto nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, Miya Osamu wasn’t at the camp, but he’s a well-rounded player. At least, from what I heard.” 

Kuroo pauses, digesting the information, before he asks his next question. “And the other twin? Miya Atsumu?” 

Bokuto’s fingers unconsciously reach for his lips, as if searching for a phantom of a lingering touch, and the movement is so quick Akaashi thinks he must have imagined it. In the next moment, Bokuto looks away and says his next words so quietly the wind almost sweeps it away. 

“He’s a hell of a setter.” 

It’s silent enough that the only sound is the soft howl of the wind before Akaashi breaks it.

“Well,” the setter glances up at Bokuto, the new difference in their heights still unfamiliar. “I suppose we’ll just have to work harder then, right?”   
  
Bokuto grins back at him, and Akaashi is suddenly hit with a deep realization of exactly how much he had missed this smile. “Right ‘Kaashi. We said we’d win nationals, didn’t we? Sort of can’t go back on that.” 

The promise made before summer lingers between them, a common, high-reaching goal that Bokuto’s fingers can just skim, but Akaashi is determined to make Bokuto’s dreams come true. 

Akaashi nods, something wonderfully great unfurling inside of him. “We’re going to make it to the top.” 

The sun smiles down in agreement.

*****

Sometimes, it surprises Akaashi how easy it is to be with Bokuto, like they can pick off right where they ended, only there was never any end. Bokuto radiates like some otherworldly being, and Akaashi is content to watch from the sidelines as Bokuto uncurls his wings and takes flight. Stronger spikes. Better receives. Enhanced agility. Bokuto’s growth from the training camp is so plausible. Everything simply becomes more, not only Bokuto’s skills, but also the increasingly frequent giggles and lingering glances (one afternoon, Konoha informs them that a few first year girls had actually tried to start a fan club for Bokuto), heightened interviews, more watchful gazes by college scouts and professional teams. These days, it’s not uncommon for Akaashi to pick up the latest issue of _Volleyball Monthly_ , only to find Bokuto’s smirking face plastered in front. Akaashi is so proud of him, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever muster the courage to voice it.

There’s also the issue of his- _how to put it_ \- feelings, which only seem to grow harder to ignore as the days pass, and Akaashi’s beginning to wonder if he was a fool for believing he could shoo them away. Bokuto has somehow weaseled himself into every part of Akaashi’s life, and with anyone else, perhaps he would’ve found it annoying, but with Bokuto, there’s only a certain lightness and happy smiles hid by his fists. Akaashi supposes this is what lo-

He nearly chokes as his eyes widen comically. _Love?_ He does not love Bokuto. Liking your best friend is bad enough, but _being in love_ with him? Akaashi shakes his head. 

“So,” Konoha slides next to him, voice breaking his terrifying thoughts. “When are you going to tell him?” 

_Him._ Even without mentioning a name, they both know exactly who Konoha is talking about.

Akaashi frowns. “Tell him what?” 

“That, uh, I don’t know... you have feelings for him?” 

Akaashi stares out at the distance, fingers laced together as he leans across the railing of the roof. Past the gym is the cluster of Sakura trees, once again in fresh bloom, and underneath them, he spots Bokuto, laughing as a crowd of third-year girls tug him to come eat with them. Akaashi’s told Bokuto countless times, _you should spend lunch with your other friends._ _It’s not fair of me to take up so much of your time when there’s so many others asking for you,_ but Bokuto just stares at him like he’s suggested they quit the volleyball team. Bokuto will be late for lunch again, but Akaashi doesn’t mind waiting.

“Ah,” Akaashi shakes his head, and Konoha watches the dark curls sway, a dark brown in the sunlight. “I can’t do that to him or the team.” 

“So, what? You’re just going to stand here and watch Bokuto move on? He’s going to graduate, go to college, probably fall in love with someone who’s not you. Don’t you at least want to tell him? Unless...” Konoha steals a glance at Akaashi, face completely impasse, and the realization dawns upon him. “You already accepted it.” 

Akaashi shrugs. “I’m more than happy to just be his friend.” 

Konoha opens his mouth to protest, but then he’s following Akaashi’s gaze, softening when he notices the subject of his focus.

Golden. Sunlight. Warmth. _Of_ _course._

“You know, Akaashi,” Konoha admits. “For someone so incredibly smart, you sure miss a lot.” 

The setter glances at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion at what exactly Konoha means, before the door to the roof flings open, and standing there, in all his glory, is Bokuto. 

“Sorry, I’m late ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto manages to gasp out between pants. 

Konoha sends one last look at Akaashi before rolling away. “I’ll leave you two.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice as he bids farewell, and Akaashi wants to groan. “Don’t have too much fun.” 

Konhoa slips past Bokuto, offering the ace a strong pat on the shoulder, before opening the creaking door and leaving.

”What was that all about?” Bokuto swivels his head. 

“Nothing.” 

The ace gives him a hard look, one that makes it clear to Akaashi just exactly how unconvinced Bokuto is, but he’s thankful when Bokuto doesn’t press further, instead deciding to settle next to Akaashi on the roof, thighs touching and shoulders occasionally bumping. 

It’s so comforting, like the sound of Bokuto’s voice or the smell of old books, and Akaashi leans down to rummage through his bag before pulling out his green bento box. Bokuto twiddles his thumbs next to him, going on about the new outside hitter the Alders managed to grab- Nicollas Romero. 

“So, what does this mean for the Jackals then?” Bokuto questions, absolutely crestfallen at the devastating news for their favorite V league team. 

Akaashi opens the lid to his lunch. “Probably that they have an unlikely chance of winning the championship this year. I’ve seen some of Romero’s games back when he played for Brazil. He’s a world class ace.” 

Bokuto droops. “Aw, yeah. You’re right, ‘Kaashi.” Bokuto mumbles. “The only way the Jackals can win this year is if they manage to switch up their setter and two outside hitters in the starting line up. Even then, there’s not many free agents left.” 

They fall into easy conversation, the topics broad and ranging from volleyball to exams to girls Bokuto thinks are cute. They’re careful to dance around the topic of graduation, when Bokuto leaves, but it’s so effortless to be with Bokuto, and Akaashi realizes perhaps Bokuto is so well-adored because of the way he makes people feel. In that sense, like many others, Akaashi is not really anything special, but he still feels glorious.

A sharp shrill pierces through the air, warning them that classes would begin shortly in ten minutes, yet Akaashi hadn’t even touched his food, the onigiri and curry udon now long cold. He’s just picked up a rice ball with his chopsticks and is about to bite into it when he notices Bokuto stealing glances at it, sharp eyes like a hawk whenever they land on him. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi rests the onigiri back into the box. “Where’s your lunch?” 

Bokuto stammers out. “I, uh, forgot it.” 

Akaashi hums, quietly digesting this information, before wordlessly pushing his lunch between them in a silent offering. 

The older boy’s eyes flit between the bento box and Akaashi in confusion, as if he couldn’t piece together what was happening. “Akaashi.” Bokuto makes a strangled noise in his throat before asking. “Why’d you give me your food?”

Konoha’s words ring in his ears- _you_ _know, for someone so incredibly smart, you sure miss a lot,_ and Akaashi thinks maybe it applies to Bokuto too.

“Because you obviously don’t have yours, do you Bokuto-san?” He explains, rolling his eyes. 

Bokuto squeaks out. “Yes, but, that doesn’t mean you have to give me yours. I’m not even that hungry-“ 

Bokuto’s stomach growls loudly, and they exchange glances, one triumphant and the other defeated. 

“Clearly,” Akaashi says, shoving another pay of chopsticks to Bokuto, who hesitantly accepts it but not before a hard glare from the setter. “You are hungry, Bokuto-san, and you are also a terrible liar, so let’s try to actually finish lunch before class begins.” 

Blush explodes across Bokuto’s cheeks, and somehow it works so wonderfully well with the ace’s tan skin. Akaashi allows himself to bathe in the moment, sun warm against his face, the comfortable rhythm as Bokuto’s shoulders rise and fall, the bright golden eyes that shine as the ace rambles on. It’s not the smartest idea, but Akaashi hopes he never forgets moments like this, no matter what happens between him and Bokuto. _Keep shining, Bokuto-san._

The chopsticks scrape against the plastic, and Akaashi glances down to find the bento box nearly empty save for a single onigiri. He’s still hungry, half of his normal lunch is nowhere close to satisfying him, but he steals one look at Bokuto and gently nudges the last rice ball to Bokuto’s side when the ace is not looking, attention enraptured by a few crows that’ve landed on the roof, eager for scraps. And when Bokuto munches on the final onigiri happily, a phantom of a smile dances across Akaashi’s lips as he shuts the bento box close and tucks it neatly into where he first pulled it from. 

Bokuto thanks him profusely, from the minute Akaashi had snapped his bag close to when they were walking down the stairs, ready to part ways for their respective classes, to when Bokuto stands in front of Akaashi’s homeroom, eagerly waiting for the setter before practice. Akaashi shrugs it off, telling Bokuto it’s not truly that much of a paramount issue, but when the ace still doesn’t relent, Akaashi threatens him a scowl and a warning of _no more tosses_ , and then Bokuto is shutting up. 

Akaashi wakes up even earlier than usual the next morning, and the morning after that, and the morning after that until a year passes and Bokuto is about to head off for university. And, for the next year, without fail, Bokuto never misses another lunch, a green bento box filled with _onigiris, yakiniku,_ and _pork_ _donburis_ tucked safely within his bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just found out Bokuto canonically has 2 sisters, so I’m so excited!!! 
> 
> Also, I’m not sure about anyone else, but I’ve been having a very very difficult time mentally in quarantine, so I just want to remind y’all that you are valid and good and deserving!!! Everything you feel is also valid, and if you ever need someone to talk to if you feel alone, I’m always here <<333!!! Please take care of yourselves!!! You are such incredible people, and I am always rooting for you!!💖💖


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listening to eastside gives me such Sumer love vibes?? Idk I thought it fit well :))

_夏や一生を一緒に過ごす_

_-to spend a summer or lifetime together_

_*_

_[Eastside- Khalid, Benny blanco, Halsey](https://open.spotify.com/track/0d2iYfpKoM0QCKvcLCkBao?si=CxwUNMrNQWmzCCH77mZv3w) _

Eventually, the sakura petals fall and in their stead rises the brilliant hues of reds and oranges that paint the sky and ground. Fall makes it’s presence known, the summer air still lingers, and somewhere in between, the Tokyo training camp arrives.

Bokuto is more excited than usual this year. There’s an additional bounce to his step, extra inch to his grin, and Keiji is ran through the days leading by up to the camp. It probably has to do with Kuroo, a pain in the ass if there ever was one, and the new tidbit of information he “accidentally” slipped to Bokuto about Karasuno’s freak duo. Bokuto manages to wrangle some tapes of Karasuno’s game against Aoba Johsai from one of his coaches at the All-Japan camp and shows up at Akaashi’s house in the middle of the night, USB in one hand, backpack in the other. They spend the entire night lounging on the floor of Keiji’s bedroom- watching the game, drawing up tactics for this year’s Inter-High, arguing about which takeout to order before they fall asleep on the couch in the middle of some random action movie Bokuto insisted on. Keiji finally gets to discover what Bokuto looks like first thing in the morning. 

It’s free fall from there, and Keiji falls _hard._ It’s not gentle or comforting like he thought it would be. It’s seeing Bokuto for all that he is- the slight curve in his lips when he pouts during his emo moods, the barely noticeable dimple when he gives out his smiles so freely, the stretch of the _4_ against the ace’s back as he rises for a particularly powerful spike. It’s watching him grow into something that Akaashi’s always been able to see before anyone else could- a true ace, in every sense of the word. There’s an aura of newfound confidence that emanates from him, a sort of growing comfort in himself, and people flock to him like moths to a light. Practices are interrupted by heartfelt confessions from pretty girls with long hair and even longer legs, and Volleyball Monthly plasters his face on their cover alongside other stars like Sasuka Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu. Bokuto shines so incredibly bright, a star in the center of this world, and Akaashi is just one of the many pulled into his orbit by some unknown force as inexplicable and arbitrary as gravity, though in his case, it might be called closer to _fate._ With a star before his eyes, all there is left for him to do is to deliver, and if this is all that is required of him, then he can do it.   
  
By the time training camp rolls around, Akaashi accepts the fact he’s in love with his best friend.

Thankfully, the training camp is a whirlwind of long days and exhausting practices, so Akaashi rarely has time to reflect upon his feelings between setting for Bokuto and playing training matches with the other schools. The Tokyo camp also offers them the perfect opportunity to analyze their opponents and calculate appropriate counterattacks. There’s Shinzen, master of combination attacks, and, of course, Nekoma, known for their impenetrable defense, and then there’s Karasuno, a strange conglomeration of patches and edges that don’t quite yet fit together. 

“Kuroo, I thought you said that weird freak duo was coming.” Bokuto whines as he crosses his arms across his chest, and Akaashi tries his best not to notice the way the muscles of his forearms flex with the motion. Seriously, he thinks, who thought it was a good idea to build Bokuto like a fucking tank?

“They are. They are.” The Nekoma captain insists. “They just -y’know- need to retake some exams they failed.” 

The answer doesn’t appear to sate Bokuto. “Come on now. Can’t they study a little and pass their exams? How hard can it be?”

“Bokuto-san, didn’t you fail your math final?”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto looks indignant. “You promised you wouldn’t tell.” 

Akaashi stares drily at Bokuto and his pout when suddenly the doors of the gym fly open to reveal two teenagers, shoving against each other in an attempt to reach inside first. Not many things can take Keiji by surprise, but this particular one manifests itself as freckled, orange-headed boy, just a year younger than Akaashi and with about as much untapped energy as Bokuto, but stuffed into a skinny, 5’1 frame.

Perhaps he should’ve expected that the Karasuno duo knew of them just like how Bokuto and him knew about them. 

”Woah.” Hinata gasps on one occasion when Bokuto and Akaashi happen to pass by the Karasuno team on their way to practice. He scrambles to regain his composure before pointing at them. “Kageyama, look. It’s Tokyo’s champion team!”

Kageyama- the dark-haired freshman who starts as setter- glares. "Hinata-boke, don't stare. You're so rude, stupid." 

“Huh? But you’re staring too!” 

Konoha sums it up perfectly when the blonde slides in next to him during their break. 

“You better pray Bokuto and Hinata don’t talk. If Bokuto’s head gets any bigger, we’ll be down a player.”

****  
  
Konoha thinks he has the absolute fucking worst luck in the world because not even a day later, Hinata and Bokuto become inseparable, joint at the hip like a pair of overgrown, conjoined twins with an obsession for volleyball, though they prefer the term sensei and disciple.

Like take now for example. The Karasuno and Fukurodani teams are sprawled out lazily across the steps of the gym for their ungodly early practice match this morning. Dawn has not even peaked when he casts a glance over at Bokuto and immediately regrets doing so. The third year captain is currently trying to shove an obscene amount of pocky sticks into his mouth, and Konoha begins to seriously debate Bokuto’s sanity, probably Hinata’s too because the little shrimp is staring doe-eyed at Bokuto like he’s sunshine personified.

“Prewy imprethive, huh?” Bokuto mumbles through a mouth full of food. Hinata nods eagerly.

Konoha shoots Akaaahi a disbelieving look, like _seriously,_ _this is the guy you’re in love with?_ Akaashi pretends not to see it. Sure, Bokuto’s attractive, but Akaashi is a beautiful man himself, so Konoha is only just a tad bit confused as the why the pretty setter pines for a guy who’s currently trying to fit his 37th pocky stick into his mouth. 

Ah, well that’s love he supposes.

He’s broken out of his musings as Karasuno’s coach, the one with the blonde undercut who smells like cigarettes and salonpas, peeks his head out the gym door and announces. “Okay, we just finished setting up. Come on in.” 

The orange headed shrimp practically jumps over him in his excitement to run into the gym. 

They begin warm-up stretches, and Bokuto’s music (Is that City Girls? What a surprise.) blasts through the gym, creating vibrations that shake his bones. He’s just about to ask Bokuto to turn the volume down, only to find their captain grinning brightly as he helps Akaashi stretch his arms, and Bokuto always is happy, but it’s nothing compared to when he’s with Akaashi. Konoha thinks his complaints can wait a bit.

Coach calls them into practice a few minutes later, and Bokuto draws away from his setter with a heavy blush staining his cheeks when Akaashi turns and thanks him. The setter’s face is still set in its usual unreadable mask, but ocean eyes soften, from riptides to ripples. It’s a tempting idea to tease the setter, whose often so stoic and expressionless, but Konoha decides he values his life just a smidge more than the satisfaction of teasing the raven-head. Despite deceiving appearances, Konoha has no doubt Akaashi could probably dump his body in the middle of some random lake, never to be found again.

“Alright,” Coach Yamji rubs his hands together before beginning. “I know we’ve never played Karasuno before, but volleyball is all about adaptability. They’re a new team too, so consider this an opportunity to both learn from each other. Now go out there and give it your all otherwise I’m making you run laps until you drop.” 

They put their hands in and cheer before the starting line up jogs onto the court and settles into their first set rotation- Bokuto in the back, Washio on first serve, and Konoha, Sarukui, and Onaga in front. 

It’s a good game, but already tilted in Fukurodani’s favor, especially after Bokuto hurls a powerful service ace in the second set that furthers the distance between their scores. Karasuno is, like Coach Yamji said, learning, not unlike baby crows taking flight for the first time. There are certain instances when the pieces suddenly mold perfectly together, and chills run down Konoha’s spine- a synchronized attack, the libero’s set, a minus tempo spike. It’s just after Hinata’s hit a particularly fast-paced straight that the momentum shifts to Karasuno. Suddenly, clogs click in place as the Miyagi team racks up points by the minute. Bokuto attempts a cross-shot to try and stop the momentum, but one of Karasuno’s blockers- the tall one with blonde eyes and a pissy face- tracks the movement like a predator, and Bokuto’s hit is slammed down by a towering wall. 

_Terrifying._

To see a top five ace be shut down, Konoha realizes the types of monsters that surround him. Jaw-shaking spikes. Impossible saves. Minuscule movements that make the difference between victory and defeat. He’s in a room with players from a different generation, and it both scares and thrills him at the same time. 

“Konoha.” Komi nudges him and tilts his head toward Bokuto. 

Konoha glances at Bokuto, hair down, shoulders hunched, and brows set in their characteristic stubbornness. Onaga is pleading with him, but they all know it’s fruitless. _Fuck._ Komi and him exchange looks, but he perks up when he notices Akaashi send a casual look to Bokuto before throwing out:

“Tell me when you’re ready to hit my tosses again.” 

_Well... so much for that._

Konoha shrugs off further thoughts about the topic, reminding himself that regardless of the situation, they have a game to win, albeit a much more difficult one. It takes some further reminding to remember that even without Bokuto, Fukurodani is still strong in every way imaginable.

The next toss comes to him. It’s beautiful, high and far from the next just how Konoha likes it, except the towering wall appears again. He has just enough time to twist his body so that the ball goes flying into the libero’s ready arms instead of the block. He sends Akaashi an apologetic look, but the vice-captain quickly shrugs it off. _Don’t mind._ Then, the ball is being smacked down again, being received by Komi, spiraling through the air in unknown anticipation before it reaches Akaashi’s outstretched fingers, already set for another toss. Konoha bends his knees, allows the power to hum through his legs as he prepares for the spike. Realistically, the chances of Akaashi setting to Konoha are pretty slim. It would be too obvious, and Akaashi, a master of these mind games, is unpredictable, so-  
  
He stills.   
  
Akaashi is unpredictable. 

The ball brushes against long, nimble fingers, a familiar home to visit for the briefest of seconds. The looming wall assembles, building and building upon itself until it is as formidable as its enemy, and Akaashi tilts the ball over with the gentlest of touches and the stoniest of eyes.

_A setter dump._

It’s effortlessly beautiful, especially when the Karasuno defenders go diving for the volleyball, despite it already being a lost cause. With a barely audible _thump,_ the ball hits the floor, momentum broken.

Karasuno loses after that. The vice-captain’s move reverses the tide, pulling Bokuto-san from his slump until the ace returned in his top form, spiking and receiving the ball with the talent of a top three ace. 

Later, when the Miyagi team is in the middle of their lap dives, Konoha slides next to Akaashi. 

“Crazy game, huh?” He asks.

Not for the first time, Konoha’s thankful for Akaashi’s ability to read between the lines, and when the setter just stares back at him knowingly, Konoha wonders if perhaps Akaashi had figured out the monster generation long before he had. 

****

The players waste the rest of the day simply lounging around, exploring the hills that roll behind the baseball field, daring each other to enter the lone house at the end of the block that’s rumored to be haunted (Bokuto does not sleep a wink that night), and eating barbecue in front of the gym. It’s an unbelievably beatific day. Akaashi can feel the resounding hum of happiness and growing nostalgia in his bones, a feeling more permanent than any memory subjugated to the wear of time, as he lets his eyes trace the gentle outline of Bokuto’s features. Beside him, the ace sits, back resting against the top of stairs and hands folded behind his head. He looks timeless, the slight curve of his cheeks, eyes softened by kindness, hands that lead him to victory each time. Akaashi tears his gaze away before he does something stupid like _kiss his captain._

“Hey, Akaashi?” Bokuto calls out, shifting to look up at him.

“Hmm?”

“It’s sorta weird.” Bokuto breathes out. “Next year, everything will be so different. The third years will leave. You’ll be captain here at Fukurodani. I’ll be in college.” 

Akaashi pauses. It’s not like he hadn’t given the subject any thought. On the contrary, perhaps he’s thought about it a bit _too much._ He thinks about rooftop lunches, and late night practices, and loud days where his smiles come out a bit easier. He no longer enjoys the silence.

”You’ve been thinking, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi teases, and it’s a stark contrast to the whirlwind of answerless questions tumbling in his head. 

“Agashii! Why do you sound so surprised?” 

Akaashi’s lips twitch in amusement. “I’m not,” he assures Bokuto. “Perhaps college is a bit scary, but I think you’ll enjoy it.” He stops and frowns for a second. “My cousin said it’s like alternating between a crazy caffeine addict and a horny frat boy.”

Bokuto laughs. Akaashi feels a bit more confident to continue on. “Besides, don’t many teams draft college players? With your abilities, I have no doubt you’ll be recruited professionally. It’ll be the next stage for you, Bokuto-san, so you don’t have to be stuck here.”   
_  
(With me.)_

“Kaashi!” Bokuto wails once Akaashi is done speaking. He leans before gripping the setter in a bone-crushing hug. “You’re so nice! You really think I can play professional volleyball?”

”Bokuto-san, I can feel your sweat on my face. Please get off of me.”

Truth be told, he doesn’t expect Bokuto to keep in contact after this year. It’s far more likely that their friendship will fizzle out, like so many others before them, even before the end of Bokuto’s first semester. Akaashi can already see how this plays out- short, scattered texts that are few and far in between, increasingly frequent apologies until _sorry_ becomes their favorite word, perhaps a polite, though awkward, conversation when they happen to run into each other on occasion. It’s so different from the _them_ now, but their ending feels inevitable.

Maybe that’s why it surprises Akaashi then when Bokuto asks, his mouth still pulled into a lopsided grin. “And you?”

”Me?” Akaashi echoes back, confused. 

”Well, uh, what about us?”

_Us? There’s an us?_

“I- well, that’s rather- you-“ Akaaahi slaps his hands onto his burning cheeks. He takes a few seconds to breathe through his mouth before answering carefully. “I’m here should you ever be in need of assistance, Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto glances at him, eyes that rival the sun, bright, warm, an absolutely brilliant array of shades of yellow like gold and honey and light. Then, a grin, tossed out so freely. “So, then...”Bokuto pauses. “That means you’ll still be with me. We can be, like, friends forever, right?” 

The sun dips lower, but Akaashi thinks the world has never been clearer.

“Promise me?” Bokuto asks, this time more hesitantly. 

Akaashi coughs once, the stutter of his heart still renders him breathless. “I promise, Bokuto-san. Forever.” 

“Forever.” Bokuto repeats, and for some reason, Akaashi believes it.

****

“And then you made that spike- the one that Tsukki couldn’t block- and it went like _gwah!”_ Hinata makes a swooping motion with his hands. “ _Whoosh!”_ Another hand gesture before Hinata turns and beams at him with adoring eyes. “You’re so cool, Bokuto-san!” 

Bokuto preens under the compliment. Yes, he thinks, what a good choice he made with his disciple and his disciple’s teacher. Nothing less than- _what’s the word Akaashi said? -_ oh, immaculate!- because what better mentor than himself! He grins and rests his hands on his hips, eyes closed in the warm bask of praise. “I really am the best-“ 

“What’s up top-5-ace-who-couldn’t-make top 3?” 

Bokuto cracks an eye open only to find Kuroo’s annoying, Cheshire smile staring back. 

“Kuroo, you asshole!” He huffs. “You always do this. What happened to being best friends, dawgs-“

“Brothers from another mother? Kuroo offers.

“Yes- homeboys, _bros._ “ Bokuto all but whines the last word, the betrayal eats at him. “You’re a-a-“ He stutters, trying to find the right word to describe his jerk of a best friend.

”Traitor?” 

“Saboteur!” 

“Oh.” Kuroo tilts his head in genuine interest. “That’s a new one.”

”You like it? Akaashi taught it to me!”

“Akaashi?” Hinata interrupts. “As in Akaashi Keiji?”

Bokuto peers down at the younger boy. “Yeah, why?”

”Kageyama and I are playing with him tonight!” Hinata explains eagerly, immediately lighting up at the thought before his face darkens. “Actually, Kageyama asked him- do you know Kageyama?” 

“Uh, tall? Dark-hair? Sorta looks like he’s eaten rotten fish when he smiles?” Kuroo offers. 

Hinata nods. “Yeah him!” He agrees. “Also, Kageyama always looks like that. It’s because he’s an idiot (an idiot) and thinks the Schweiden Alders are better than the Jackals. But I like Akaashi-san! Akaashi-san is super nice to me, and he says we can practice together whenever he’s free-“

Bokuto can’t help but whine at this. How come Akaashi never said that to him? It’s always “ _Bokuto-san, you need to eat more vegetables.”, “Bokuto-san, did you do your homework?”,_ and never “ _Bokuto-san, you are the utter epitome of awesomeness. Do you want to practice hitting my tosses some more?”._ Because Bokuto could honestly go all night hitting Akaashi’s tosses. After all, they really are the best.

”-and he’s really pretty too. Kageyama’s been wanting to like practice with Akaashi-san for forever because did you know Akaashi-san is the top setter in his prefecture?” Hinata shrieks with glee. “He’s like the Great King of Tokyo!”   
  
Bokuto has no clue who the Great King is, but still he nods vehemently in agreement. Akaashi is one hell of a setter, easily in league with other top setters like Oikawa Tooru and Aikichi Suwa, and Bokuto can’t help but feel a strong surge of pride that it’s _him_ who gets to play alongside such a strong player.

“Kid,” Kuroo mumbles once Hinata finishes his words. He loops a heavy arm across Hinata’s shoulders. “You ever think about laying off the coffee or taking an adderall?” 

Bokuto gasps, completely scandalized that Kuroo would even think of mentioning such as he rushes to cover Hinata’s ears. “Kuroo!” He chastises. “Not in front of the b-a-b-y!”

Hinata blinks back at Kuroo. “Actually, once I took three Advils because it was a really bad headache. Did I tell you who caused it? You’ll never guess. So, basically Kageyama...” 

Kuroo sighs. He wonders if Hinata’s noticed the number of times he’s mentioned Kageyama’s name. There’s a fine line between basic appreciation for your team mate and unadulterated adoration of them, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Hinata belongs to the latter category.

”Hey, chibi-chan.” Kuroo calls out. Hinata pauses midway through his story. “You wanna come to the hot springs with us? Me and Bo were planning on going. “  
  
Hinata shakes his head. “Can’t! Remember? I’m supposed to practice with Kageyama and Akaashi-san in...”

He pauses to check his phone before jumping a solid four feet in the air and shrieking. “Oh crap! I was supposed to help Kageyama set up 15 minutes ago. Oh damn it, damn it. I’m so dead.” 

He quickly waves goodbye to them before sprinting up the hill towards the gym. Kuroo turns to Bokuto. 

“Race ya’?” He grins. 

Bokuto grins back. “Dude, you’re on.”

... Which is exactly how they found themselves in their current predicament, shoving, and grunting, and pushing the other in an attempt to hold the title of winner. 

"Bo,” Kuroo snaps. “You are such a deadman walking.”

Bokuto snorts. “Ohh, you’re so scary Kuroo,” he mocks, and Kuroo fights back the urge to kick him. “Remember that one time Alisa Haiba asked if you knew Russian, and you told her her grandmother shits rocks like a raccoon?”

Kuroo decides perhaps it’s okay to occasionally kick your best friend, so he lands a hard, swift one that’ll be sure to have Bokuto limping for days. When he hears the other boy’s shriek of pain, he allows himself to revel in it, like music to his ears he thinks, before Bokuto tackles him in return, and they go stumbling onto the cold tile floor.

Kuroo releases a groan. He aches all over from practice, and there’s a heavy weight on top of him that is not doing any favors. “Dude, move your dump truck ass off my dick." 

"Move your limp dick off my ass. Take a viagra or something, you old man!” 

_Ah, maybe the dumpster behind the kitchen. Or should I do the bigger one near the baseball field?_ He’s sorely tempted at the thought of murdering Bo in this instant. Sure, Kuroo loves the stupid owl, but some days his best friend makes him want to nose-dive head first into solid asphalt. But for now, Kuroo settles for wrestling the ace. He’s just managed to lock Bokuto into a chokehold when a quiet cough captures the their attention. Bokuto blinks, then he pinches himself. 

_Holy fuck._

Bokuto chokes out a strangled groan, and Kuroo's not so sure it's his fault this time- he stopped trying to commit cold-blood murder a while ago, unfortunately. Rather, the object of blame towers over them, dark towel wrapped around a lean waist and hand frozen in the middle of pulling back soaked curls. Bokuto allows his eyes to wander, tracing the planes of Akaashi’s chest, all hard angles and lithe muscles. With unbelievable willpower, he somehow manages to pull his gaze to somewhere more appropriate than his kouhai’s naked chest. Ocean-colored eyes stare back at him in question. An eyebrow slightly raised. It’s a perfect balance between exasperation and amusement, but amusement at what exactly? 

And then, it dawns upon him and Kuroo at the same time- their very compromised position. Realization washes over the two captains, sending them frantically scrambling off each other.

"Akaashi!" Bokuto shrieks embarrassed." It's not what it looks like! I swear!"

Another raised eyebrow, sharp eyes settling on Bokuto, who can't decide if they're green or blue.

"I didn't say anything, Bokuto-san. I'm simply surprised to see you and Kuroo-san here, that's all." Akaashi’s voice is calm and soothing, only serving to emphasize the logic behind his statement like always.

"Ah, right," the older boy mutters sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to focus anywhere but the attractive setter. "Anyways, what’d you, uh, do here Akaashi? Or what do you like to do here like in the hot springs?”

Kuroo suppresses a groan. Bokuto is an bumbling, idiotic mess to the point where it's almost painful to watch.

Akaashi's nicer, or used to Bokuto's stumbling words, because he kindly answers, "I was bathing in the hot spring, but Kageyama-kun texted me and asked if we could start practice early. I'm off to see him now, if you'll excuse me."

Akaashi offers a polite nod at Kuroo before brushing past them out the door, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes until Bokuto realizes they’re neither green nor blue, but somewhere in between.

Suddenly, Akaashi pauses, sparing a glance back, lips dancing with a hint of a teasing smile. “Oh, and Bokuto-san?” He says. “You’re limping by the way.”

And then the setter leaves, sending Bokuto’s face into a warm frenzy at the insinuation. It’s all the two captains can do to linger on Akaashi’s retreating form, eyes glued to the hard muscles that gently ripple in his back as the night greedily envelopes him.

Kuroo is the first to recover. "Bokuto," he begins, voice quiet and serious. “You, my friend, are royally fucked."

For once, Bokuto agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo finals are over!!
> 
> Also the fact that I debated between eastside and love game for this chapter- but I love both omg


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really the only song for this chapter is sweater weather. the way i played it nonstop

_憧れ_

_\- longing, yearning, aspiration_

*

[Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood](https://open.spotify.com/track/2QjOHCTQ1Jl3zawyYOpxh6?si=1ToV-TEcR6yd9jKwGIlhcA)

The first time Akaashi meets Miya Atsumu is by accident, a sudden twist of fate that knocks the breath out of his lungs.

It's almost Christmas, the air the type of crisp icy December usually brings in, and the entire city buzzes with excitement at the upcoming festives, trees lit up with flashing lights and the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg permeating throughout the air. It's all bright smiles and easy favors. It’s also one of Akaashi's least favorite times of the year when the empty house feels even emptier, a void emphasized by the everything around it. It’s not as if his parents don’t care for him, they most certainly do. It’s just that they’re often busy, well-known surgeons who wake up one morning in Meknes and fall asleep the following night in Bardejov, traveling the world, attending conferences, saving lives. He tries not to be bitter about it; those are feelings of the past, and he’s proud of the work they do, so he tries his best to become someone they can be proud of too. Really, he’s not some cold, apathetic piece of shit; in fact, usually he's perfectly content within the confines of this familiar loneliness. He wakes up, showers, plays hard, studies harder. Sometime between, he sneaks in a meal. There's no one to wake up to, no one to fall asleep to, no one in between. Just him, just Akaashi the way it's always been, the way he thought it was supposed to be, and it takes meeting Bokuto for him to realize that this wasn’t the way people were supposed to live. Truthfully, Bokuto can be loud and childish, falling in and out of his moods faster than the ocean changes tides, not to mention infuriatingly stubborn. Some days, Akaashi walks home in desperate need of a few Advils, Bokuto trailing behind with a sulking pout, and still Akaashi would not change a thing. He knows quiet homes, lonely homes, homes that feel more like a rest stop in between rather than a destination, but the home he finds in Bokuto is nothing like he’s ever had, and, somehow, that makes him Akaashi’s favorite home of all.

Akaashi's not delusional enough to believe he could ever be the same for Bokuto. 

He exhales, shaking his head from his thoughts, and stuffs his icy fingers into his pockets, wishing- for what feels like the tenth time that night- that he had brought gloves. 

"Hey, hey, hey! Akaashi, you made it." A familiar voice shouts as he nears the trademark neon blue and pink lights of the tiny shop. Bokuto huddles against the wind, cheeks rosy and face buried in a tan scarf, as people mill around him on the crowded sidewalk.

Akaashi smiles at him, feeling the usual warmth seep into his chest whenever Bokuto was around. Today, especially in the cold, he's thankful for it.

"Did you ever think I wouldn't come?" He asks. They’re standing in line, waiting for a table when the hostess nods briefly at them a few minutes later. Snatching two menus, she leads them to a table located in the heart of the cozy ramen place, and the room is just crowded enough to bump their shoulders against one another when they lean in too close. 

"Nah, I just got here early...” The end of his sentence trails off into an inaudible mumble, and Bokuto’s knee fidgets, eyes bright in anticipation.

Akaashi pauses for a second, nudging Bokuto silently to continue before the ace bursts from his excitement.

It’s all the encouragement Bokuto needs. “But I just really wanted to give you your present!” 

“My... present?” Akaashi echoes, confused. Christmas is still nearly three days away, and Bokuto’s own present- a MSBY jackals jersey- is sitting neatly folded on top of Akaashi’s dresser. “Bokuto-san, I apologize. If I had known, I would have brought yours too.”

The ace waves it off. “You don’t have to get me anything, ‘Kaashi. I just wanted to give yours early before I spoiled the surprise.”

Before Akaashi can respond, Bokuto digs out something from his coat pocket, flattening it on the table. Akaashi’s curious gaze traces the sky-blue wool and off-centered green and red bow. Something heavy sets in his throat, and it takes him a few seconds before it finally _clicks_ what Akaashi’s looking at. It’s- 

“Gloves!” Bokuto announces proudly. 

Akaashi doesn't say anything, just studies at the gift laying bare in front of him. It's a pair of gloves, knitted with the softest of material and engraved with tiny, fluttering owls. It must’ve taken weeks to complete this. 

"Do you like them?" Bokuto asks nervously, studying Akaashi's face for the slightest hint of dislike when the ace is met with further silence. “I made them myself since my mom is into knitting and all that stuff, so I, uh, thought maybe if you had an extra pair to like keep in your backpack, you wouldn’t get as cold anymore."

Now that Bokuto's mentioned it, Akaashi can see the tell tale signs of the gift being handmade- a few tufts on yarn sticking out here and there, the wobbly lines in the owls's outline. The silence lingers.

Calloused fingers slowly inch towards the gift. “It’s okay if you don’t like it, Akaashi.” Bokuto’s voice is very, very small, a sad tilt at the end that almost goes unnoticed. “No worries. I mean, honestly, it’s sorta stupid-“ 

Suddenly, Akaashi’s hands are over his, blanketing over the back of his palm, the coldness seeping into his skin. Bokuto can trace the ridges and crevices of every callous and scar that line the setter's hands. They’re good. He swallows. They’re really good setter hands, beautiful hands that spin even more beautiful tosses, and Akaashi peers up at him, something indecipherable in his sea green eyes that shine in the neon lights of the store.

"Thank you Bokuto-san." Akaashi murmurs quietly. "It’s beautifully crafted.”

Then, he smiles at Bokuto, a real one that's soft and kind and full of something that makes Bokuto feel like he's at the apex of a spike, immortal and invincible. It feels like victory- to lure a hard-earned smile or laugh out of Akaashi.

"Really you do?" Bokuto prods. Akaashi's still holding his hands, and Bokuto grips them a little tighter, not wanting to let go just yet.

The gorgeous setter nods before rewarding Bokuto with a gentle laugh, a soft ripple of sincerity and content. "Yes, Bokuto-san. I'll wear them as frequently as permitted."

With that promise, Bokuto grins. He feels like his face is about to split open. "All right!" he cheers. "Well, try them on Akaashi!"

Akaashi tenderly holds the gloves as if a single harsh breath would unravel them, his most favorite gift. He must take too long because, suddenly, Bokuto leans in, his face only inches from Akaashi, and impatiently tugs them onto the setter's hands. Once they're warming his hands, Akaashi turns them over, admiring every single stitch in the cloth.

Bokuto breathes, his silver tips brushing against Akaashi's face. "How do they feel? Do they fit?”

The setter stares, lets his eyes wander down from soft strands the color of ice to the sharp angle of the jaw. “It’s perfect.” He admits. 

Bokuto glances up, sunrise eyes on a winter night welcoming turbulent ocean ones. They're inches apart, separated uncertainly by the cold fog of their breaths, a void for all the things left unsaid, but Bokuto's large hands still envelope Akaashi's. Another second too long.

Akaashi swallows. "Bokuto-san, I have something to tell you". Konoha’s admittance rings in his ears. _I think you like him, Akaashi._ And suddenly, the words feel rushed, like they can’t leave his tongue quick enough. “I think I may li-“

"Hey, Bo-kun, is that you?"

The pair swivel around before Bokuto jumps out of his seat, sprinting to tackle the other man in a tight embrace. There’s no hesitation, no second thoughts, and Akaashi lays eyes on Miya Atsumu for the first time.

Akaashi's first thought is that Miya is gorgeous- in the typical jock way. He towers almost as tall as Bokuto, lips pulled into a constant smirk and chocolate brown eyes brimming with calculation and a confidence that almost borders arrogance. Miya runs his fingers, Akaashi notices more longer and wider than his own, through his dyed hair to shake off the snow before his hands wrap around Bokuto's broad back. And yet, perhaps if his looks weren't enough, Akaashi's spent enough hours in Bokuto's room, their limbs splayed across the floor, watching old volleyball games and flipping through Volleyball Monthly to recognize the the insurmountable skill the setter holds in his body. Akaashi has read about the blonde man for the last two years: Miya Atsumu, candidate for All Japan, one of the top setters in the nation, and currently the boy smiling warmly at his captain.

"Tsumtsum!" Bokuto chirps, golden eyes shining with adoration and excitement so raw it knocks the wind out of Akaashi's lungs. The captain's touches are ones of familiarity, a gently tousle of the hair, hand resting on shoulder, a knowing smile for a secret between two. "What are you doing here?"

Miya Atsumu chuckles, leaning in towards Bokuto until his blonde hair falls in his eyes. “I came to see ya.”

"Really?" Bokuto chirps, perking up.

"No, Bo-kun. I have family in Tokyo, so we're visiting for the weekend." Miya deadpans.

Bokuto pouts. "What?" He whines, big eyes turning to look at Miya. "You should've texted me you were gonna be in Tokyo. We could have played volleyball."

The blonde setter rolls his eyes, but there's a ghost of a smile painting his lips. "Everything's always about volleyball with ya, huh?"

Bokuto opens his mouth, but Miya beats him to it. "I can't disagree. It’s been a while since I’ve set for ya.”

There's a note of longing in his voice obvious to any setter. Tossing to someone like Bokuto is a different euphoria by itself. Akaashi knows he's lucky.

“But if yer want, we can play this weekend?”

Bokuto nods eagerly.

“I’m here for the weekend, so I’ll probably text yer phone. Try not to tire out before me.” Miya teases, but there’s nothing humorous behind his eyes- only a feral taunt that would excite another monster. 

Bokuto meets his eyes, returns the grin, a monster in his own right. “You’re on!” The light in his eyes shifts, as if suddenly remembering something. “But I’m only free on Sunday. Me and ‘Kaashi practice our plays on Saturday.”

Miya’s eyes flit to the ocean-eyed boy.

"Y’know Akaashi, Tsumtsum.” Bokuto introduces. “He's my setter at Fukurodani!"

Two intense pairs of eyes settle on Akaashi, one a lazy honey and the other an arrogant chocolate brown. Miya's watchful gaze studies him carefully, analyzing every inch of his stature.

"-and he gives the best tosses too."

"The best tosses, huh?" Miya murmurs softly. He tilts his head down and stares at Akaashi.

Akaashi meets Miya's gaze back before introducing himself with an outstretched hand. "Bokuto-san tends to exaggerate, but I'm Akaashi Keiji, setter for Fukurodani. Pleased to meet your acquaintance."

Miya's hands clasp Akaashi's own, and Akaashi briefly notes how much bigger they are than his own. They’re good setter hands.

"Miya Atsumu. It's nice to meet ya. Bo-kun talked about ya all the time.”

Heat explodes on Akaashi’s cheeks, but he manages to keep his face locked in a mask of neutrality. Beside him, Bokuto whines in protest. “Tsumtsum.”

“Shut yer trap. Every morning I wake up, and it’s _Atsumu, did ya know Akaashi-_ “

”Tsumu!” A voice bellows from the distance, and in the darkness, Akaashi can just barely make out the outline of another teenage boy. “We’re leaving your sorry ass behind if you don’t come.”

Miya shouts. “You got a pig-mouth and a pig-face Samu. Quit yer yappin’. I’m coming!” He turns back to face them and offers a roll of his eyes. 

“Is that Osamu?” Bokuto asks with a knowing grin. 

_Right, Miya Osamu. The other half of the Miya twins._ Akaashi recalls. He remembers reading about him. 

In front of them, Miya nods, annoyed. “Yeah, he’s a jackass, but I gotta go.” He rests his palms on the table before hoisting himself up, the muscles gently shifting beneath the tight fabric of his shirt. “Nice seeing ya, Bo-kun, Akaashi-san.”

With one last final nod, Miya jogs out the door until Akaashi can no longer make out the tawny brown of his winter jacket, and Bokuto breaks the silence, popping a pork bun into his mouth, chewing as he asks. “ So, what’d ya think of Tsumtsum?” 

“He’s a great setter, a bit more... expressive than what I was expecting though.”

The captain barks out a laugh. “Oh yeah, he swears like a sailor, but it’s especially bad with Osamu. When we were at All- Japan, I used to wake up to about five different ways of _fuck_ every morning.” Bokuto admits.

“I didn’t know you two were room mates.” 

Bokuto nearly chokes on his food, a faint blush dotting his cheeks as Akaashi hands him a glass of water. “Uh, we were- yeah. Room mates.” 

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t pry.   
  
Dinner finishes smoothly after that. It’s easy to fall back into conversations, their topics broad and varied and ranging from volleyball to Bokuto’s latest adventures with Kubro (an awful combination of Kuroo and bro, Akaashi learns) to their upcoming physics exam. By the time the plates are cleared and the bill paid, Akaashi can feel the familiar content him in his body that comes from being with Bokuto. He eases into it. Their steps are quiet, but not as quiet as the snow that’s once again begun to fall. Usually, the frozen drops would remind Akaashi of the coldness in his fingers, but today there is none. He smiles softly into the fabric of his scarf. 

“Akaashi?” 

Akaashi pauses and turns to look at Bokuto, the moon creating a soft halo around him, flakes of snow cluttered in his his hair and lashes. Akaashi’s tempted to brush it away, but he reminds himself he doesn’t have that right. There’s no need to ruin a perfectly good night with unbounded feelings. 

“I had a fun time tonight.” Bokuto admits. His eyes never leave Akaashi’s. The golden feels more piercing today. “ Thank you.” 

Akaashi thinks he can hear the pounding of his heart within his ears. _Da-dum. Da-dum. Thank you for showing me how to live._ “Me too, Bokuto-san. Thanks for the gift. You didn’t have to.”

Bokuto smiles. “I wanted to, ‘Kaashi.” 

Something crackles between them before Bokuto pulls away first, tilting his head with the remembrance of a forgotten detail. 

“Oh yeah, did you want to tell me something? I remember you mentioning it before Tsumtsum came.” 

_Breathe._

He releases a large exhale, searching for the words to convey what he wants to confess without destroying the friendship they’ve built in the last two years. 

“No.” Akaashi lies. “It’s nothing.” 

In the end, they just became more words left unsaid. Perhaps if he had taken that chance, jumped into that void of the unknown, things could’ve ended differently.

Later that night, Akaashi lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling in darkness, trying to simply process the night because time with Bokuto always feels so  surreal. He thinks. Bokuto is full of surprises, an unexpected array of wonderfully, bright, dazzling pieces that fit together in impossible ways. A complement of paradoxes: simple and enigmatic, a lingering warmth so bright it leaves him with an aching longing. 

It’s the first time Bokuto’s failed to wish him goodnight, and Akaashi doesn’t notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up at 4 am and randomly grinded this out, so i do apologize if it's trash!! I wanted to finish the story before February, but I don’t think it’ll happen 😭 thank you so, so much for all the kudos, reads, and comments. Y'all are so precious!! Love you guys lots : )))) happy holidays!!
> 
> Also, I should clarify I absolutely love Miya, and my intention is not to write him as some homewrecker, but a rather complex, and very human character

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!! As always, hope you’re staying safe and doing well. Sending you lots of love and support always <33 （╹◡╹）♡


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